#geralt sweating because shit how old IS Jaskier

[spielzeugkaiser]

BEAR JASKIER MY MOST BELOVED 😍😍😍😭😭😭

when you forget to tell your daughter that you age a bit differently... bear!Jaskier my beloved too yessss. Thank you!!

#geralt sweating because shit how old IS Jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #jaskier #bear!Jaskier #this is a humorous take on Jaskiers horrible experience of watching his family age :) #this has been existing as something way bigger in my brain for ages but today I just went for it

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Jaskier and Lambert learn they have more in common than first thought.

CW historical abuse, child abuse, beating.

Jaskier silently ground his teeth in agitation as Lambert kicked off again, saying something about the little Lordling not liking hard work when Jaskier collapsed at one of the long tables after spending the couple of hours before dinner helping them repair one of the walls (typically, the three Wolves hadn’t even broken a sweat). People underestimated how thick a skin you needed as a Bard, but even Jaskier could only take so much and Lambert was relentless. Geralt had imparted the usual, trite advice of ‘ignore him and he’ll get bored’. Unfortunately, whilst Jaskier may have succeeded in keeping his mouth shut in the name of civility, his emotions were doing all the talking for him and the scent of Jaskier’s hurt and annoyance only seemed to spur Lambert on. If the sneer on his face was any indication, he could tell the Bard was nearing the end of his tether.

“Give it a rest Lambert.” Eskel growled warningly, “It’s been four days. If Jaskier’s not had enough of your shit by now, the rest of us have.”

“Not my fault. Maybe next time Geralt should bring somebody who didn’t have such a spoilt, cushy upbringing.”

And there went the remnants of Jaskier’s self control. He stood up quickly enough to tip the bench, turning to Lambert with a snarl of his own. The Wolf smirked in return at having finally gotten a reaction.

“Let me show you how cushy I had it.” Jaskier scoffed. Before any of the others could react, he turned his back and lifted his shirt. The tension in the room switched from uncomfortable to stifling as the Witchers took in the sight of the Bard’s bare back. Raised scars from both whip and belt crisscrossed his flesh, some of them showing the outline of a buckle.

“My father wasn’t a very nice person.” Jaskier said dryly, “First time he took his belt to me was because I was laughing too much. I was six.”

Geralt felt a wall of ice slam into his gut as he thought back on all the times he’d told Jaskier to shut up, manhandled him. That time he’d actually punched him....

Jaskier lowered his shirt, “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll be in my ivory tower.”

“Jaskier-“

“Don’t. Just...don’t.”

As soon as Jaskier was out of sight, Eskel rounded on the youngest Wolf, “You never learn. You always have to take shit too far.” He snarled.

“How was I to know?” Lambert bit back, “Geralt, you’re the one who’s been travelling with him for years. Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“I... didn’t know.” Geralt said truthfully. All things considered, it was rare he saw the bard shirtless and when he did, Jaskier always made sure to stay facing Geralt. Even here at Kaer Morhen he was always the first one in and the last one out of the hot springs, “He never put his back to me.”

“And that didn’t seem strange to you?”

“Not turning your back is one of the first things they drilled into us here, so no.”

“Oh, for fucks sake.”

Jaskier sat at the top of one of the more stable towers, swinging his feet idly in the open air below him and occasionally swigging from the half bottle of wine he’d retrieved from his room on the way up.

He was half aware of someone sitting next to him, spite and petulance making him continue to stare ahead rather than turn to see who.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before his mystery companion spoke up.

“My old man was always careful not to leave any lasting marks. Nothing that couldn’t be explained away by our own clumsiness.” Lambert said, taking a swig of his own bottle.

“Hmm, mine was determined to make sure the lessons stuck. Apparently I was a slow learner.”

“He still living?”

Jaskier shook his head, “Died not long before I met Geralt. Yours?”

“Died decades ago, probably. I swear, if I knew where he was buried - if he was buried. It’d be more than he deserved - I’d go and piss on his grave.”

“I actually did that. It’s not as gratifying as you’d think.”

That startled a laugh out of Lambert, Jaskier giving a small chuckle back.

“To arsehole Sires.” Lambert said with mock solemnity, holding his bottle out to Jaskier.

“May they enjoy eternity in the deepest pits of Hell.” Jaskier replied with equal gravity, knocking his own against Lambert’s in a toast.

They sat drinking and watching the sun disappear behind the mountain tops, each of them lost in their own memories. When the night time chill started to descend, Lambert silently offered a now slightly tipsy Jaskier a hand up. Jaskier wordlessly accepted.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #witcher lambert #lambert #witcher jaskier #jaskier #whump #whump writing

[ohwhoopsok]

🦚 geraskier fic rec 🐺

Better Than The Memory by objectlesson (E)

Warnings:

Squick and possible consent issues re: clothing?? Idk.

Author’s Summary:

Sure, Geralt was muscley and had beautiful, shapely, irritatingly symmetrical lips and an ass shaped by the hands of the gods themselves but—those features alone have never been enough to do it for Jaskier. He’s not a ruffian. He needs a little more than natural strength, he needs effort. It shouldn’t matter that Geralt is gifted in certain areas because he bathes once a week maybe if they’re lucky and lives in his armor and kisses his horse on the mouth and is otherwise a truly disgusting human. Or not human. A truly disgusting witcher.

So it’s absurd and quite shocking, really, when Jaskier starts to get hard every time he can smell Geralt of Rivia’s sweat.

Whoops’ words:

So. I’m working on a fic that involves some sweat/pit/stink kink, right? And I thought to myself hmm lets see what that ao3 tag is like, real casual, just out of curiosity...... 👀💦 Listen to me, listen-- I wasn’t even remotely prepared for this?? This shit is so hot, I’m embarrassed in my office by myself.

Jaskier’s just so fucking desperately turned on the whole way through and disgusted by how horned up he is about Geralt being fucking gross and well fuck me dude I guess I feel that on a newly awoken personal level?

And of course Geralt can smell that. I love fics where Geralt knows what’s up all along and just doesn’t say anything until the climax, no pun intended. And woof what a climax it is, because besides being so ungodly hot, there’s a few emotional lines that made me just--get up and walk in a circle for a second.

This fic is like 2 years old and I’m not sure she even writes for the witcher anymore, but boy howdy if you’re into raunch, give this a look. ⭐

#fic recs #the witcher #whoops' words #squick #i have no idea if there's normally a format to these kinds of posts but tahdah! #i should keep doing them and if i do they'll probably look much like this

[julek]

for @asweetprologue and myself <3 | read on ao3

“Eurgh,” Jaskier says as he gracelessly flops down onto his bedroll. He wipes his nose. “This is impossible.”

It’s cold season for mere mortals and humble bards, it seems. Jaskier wipes his nose again, coughing into his elbow. Being out in the wilderness doesn’t help, either — the nights are mild but there’s a soft breeze that won’t let up, making Jaskier wake up with a sore, dry throat.

“I wonder…” he mumbles to himself, pushing forward with effort to kneel onto the bedroll. He lets his arms drop, release the tension they’d been holding all day just to keep him standing upright. He brings his fingertips to his thighs and closes his eyes. “Okay, big breath…”

He inhales slowly, pushing down the sudden urge to cough with a frown on his face. He bites his lip as he tries to hold the air in for a moment, counting to five in his head, then breathing out with a heavy exhale that’s immediately followed by a coughing fit.

When he’s regained composure, he tries again. Keeping his back straight as an arrow — or what he hopes resembles it at the moment — he breathes in again, but his left nostril is blocked, the right one whistling as the air comes in. As good as I’m going to get, he thinks, and holds his breath. His ears pop.

“Gods!” He groans, his head in his hands. He sniffs miserably. “What do you want from me? What sins am I paying for?”

“I could name a few,” he hears Geralt’s voice say from the foliage. He walks out of the trees with a smirk, holding a pheasant by the neck. “What are you doing?”

Jaskier looks up at him, droopy-eyed and forlorn. “I tried to meditate. You know, like you do. Deep breaths and all— it didn’t work.”

“Hmm.” Geralt puts the pheasant aside for a moment, moving into Jaskier’s space to kneel beside him. He brings his lips to Jaskier’s forehead, the touch grounding, and says, “You don’t have a fever.”

Jaskier sighs. “But I feel like shit.”

“Mm,” Geralt says emphatically, and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before getting up. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier watches him retrieve his knife from his bag. “Can’t you just,” he whines, his fingers making a whoosh motion, “Axii me back into health, or something?”

Geralt snorts, his blade flat against the feathers as he removes the wings. Jaskier almost feels bad for the poor thing, but the rumble in his stomach holds its ground. “That’s not how it works.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Jaskier flops onto his back, looking at the twinkling stars. “Just so you know, if I had the ability to do…” He frowns. “...magic thingies, I’d use them to nurse my beloved back into health. Just saying.”

“Good to know.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Since you won’t be displaying your undying love for me via some sort of, of… miracle potion, dear, wake me when dinner’s ready.”

The way Geralt stays silent and doesn’t strangle him is a small display of his undying love of its own. Curled up on his bedroll, Jaskier dozes to the sound of Geralt’s knife and the crackling of the fire.

When he wakes, it’s to Geralt’s foot poking him in the side. “Jask.”

“Mmmpf?” He manages before coughing back to life. “Ugh.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Geralt says, and waits for Jaskier to stop wheezing and attempting to spit his lung out to pass him a slightly-burnt leg.

“Thanks,” Jaskier croaks, and digs in.

They eat in comfortable silence, the distant sound of a stream trickling down and cicadas singing their evening song into the sky, the simmering of water on a pot over the fire. Putting his waterskin aside, Jaskier stretches, pleased.

“Well,” he says. “That was good. Now, I think some sleep is in order.”

Geralt smiles at him like he’s withholding a secret. It’s a dangerous smile for him to wear. “Oh, what is it?” Jaskier says.

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks, all innocent and wide-eyed.

“You’ve got that conspiratorial look about you. What is it?”

Geralt says nothing, instead fetches his bedroll and rolls it out next to Jaskier’s. Before Jaskier can lay down as he’s been waiting to and before he can drag the Witcher down with him and press into his warmth, Geralt puts up his hand.

“We can’t share,” he says.

Jaskier splutters. “And why not?” He says indignantly.

Geralt gestures vaguely at his face.

Jaskier sniffs, as if to prove his point. “I cannot believe,” he says, wiping his nose, “that Geralt of Rivia, slayer of beasts and hero of humanity, won’t share his bed with me because of a runny nose!”

Geralt makes a face. “You’ll cover me in goo.”

“You’ve been covered in much worse! You can’t even get sick, you—” His voice is comically nasal as he whispers, heartbroken, “I thought you loved me.”

Geralt sits closer. “And I do,” he says. “Which is why I’m displaying my— what was it?”

“Undying love for me,” Jaskier grumbles.

“Yes, that— by offering you the oldest cold-banishing ritual there is.”

Jaskier perks up. “You are? Why didn’t you lead with that? What is it?” He scrambles to get up, starts undoing his chemise. ”Do I have to be naked? Howl at the moon? D’you need some blood? I read that—”

“None of that, Jask,” Geralt says, touching his fingers to Jaskier’s arm, settling him. “Just— wait.”

Jaskier does, curiously watching Geralt wander around their camp. He retrieves a small linen bag from his pack, upending its contents into the pot and taking it out of the fire, placing it on the ground next to it. Then, he digs up an old shirt of his, black and faded, from his bag, and hands it to Jaskier with a warm smile.

“Come here,” he says softly, motioning for Jaskier to come kneel by the fire. He does, the dirt digging in his knees, and looks up at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt unfolds his shirt with care, and wraps it around the back of Jaskier’s neck. “Drape it over your head,” he instructs gently. “With your hands, like this. Like— like a tent.”

It makes Jaskier laugh, but he does it anyway. “Okay,” he says. “I feel like a child. What next?”

He can’t see Geralt with the dark cloth covering his head, but he hears him snort. ��Now, put your face over the pot— here, I’ll help you.” Geralt places a hand on his back and helps him lean over the steaming pot, arranges his shirt so that it covers the pot as well, leaving Jaskier inside a warm, humid cocoon. “Now, breathe in.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, the sweet scent of chamomile filling his senses. His face feels warm already, the steam curling his hair at the edges. Geralt’s hand is still on his back, soothing. “The steam will help clear your airway,” he says. “Just breathe in and out until the water starts to cool down.”

Jaskier nods, but realizes Geralt can’t see him. “Okay,” he says, breathing in again. It makes him sweat, the warm steam on his face, but with every breath he takes, he can feel it work its magic. There isn’t any, he knows — it’s no different from the potions Geralt brews, the salve he uses on his wounds — but there’s something mesmerizing about watching the cut-up stems and petals dancing on the water, unintelligible shapes revealing themselves at the bottom of Geralt’s beaten-up pot.

The water cools down after a while. When Jaskier emerges from his makeshift tent, Geralt’s watching him with a tender look in his eyes, a smile curling on his lips despite himself. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier sniffs, but this time, he takes in a clean breath. “Better,” he says, handing Geralt his shirt back. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” says Geralt, and this time, when he lays on his bedroll, he beckons Jaskier close. “Sleep?”

Jaskier smiles. The chamomile made him sleepy, and he feels warm as he lays next to Geralt, entwining their legs and brushing his nose against the cold spot where his jaw meets his neck.

“Thank you for saving me,” he murmurs against Geralt’s skin.

Geralt huffs a laugh, tightening his arms around the bard. “‘S hardly a cure.”

Jaskier looks at him. Geralt’s profile is illuminated by the dying firelight, the flames casting shadows on his face. Still, his golden gaze gleams as their eyes meet.

“How’d you come up with it?” Jaskier asks quietly. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

Geralt doesn’t answer for a while, his fingers tracing lines over Jaskier’s chemise. Jaskier brushes a wayward strand of white hair from Geralt’s face. He smiles.

“My mother used to do it for me.”

Jaskier hums at the quiet admission, listening to the slow beating of Geralt’s heart. He smiles faintly, and Jaskier knows he’s not really there right now.

“There wasn’t money for healers, back then.” Geralt swallows. “But there was always chamomile.”

Jaskier squeezes his hand.

“I never liked it, in truth,” Geralt admits, quietly. “The steam was always too hot on my face. But she would… she’d sit next to me. Hold the cloth over my face.”

Jaskier thinks of Geralt’s hand at his back.

“We’d do it together.”

Breathing out, like he can finally feel the air filling his lungs, Geralt looks into Jaskier’s eyes. They’re softer, somehow, honey-gold around a pool of black. Jaskier brushes his fingers against Geralt’s cheek, leans in for a tender kiss to his jaw, missing his lips.

Geralt laughs, low and beautiful. “I can’t get sick now, you know.”

Jaskier smiles. “I know.”

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fluff

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

And Tomorrow, Too.

I'm back!

Much love and many thanks to @stinastar @hailhailsatan @newnamesamecharlotte and @veritasrose for helping me yank this thing out of my brain!

Please enjoy this hurt/comfort that ends with glorious, glorious fluff.

TW: Blood, canon typical injury, infection

Jaskier was having a very rough day, objectively speaking.

He’d just finished dressing after a dip in the river when a lone bandit surprised him, shoving him to the dirt and kicking him in the ribs to keep him down. Having dealt with a gut-punch from a Witcher, Jaskier had recovered faster than anticipated and tackled the stranger to the ground.

“Foolish troubadour,” the bandit snarled. There was the quick flash of something silver and a sudden white-hot pain shot up the bard’s side from his hip to his ribcage.

“Shit,” Jaskier gasped, clutching desperately at his slashed doublet. The panicked bandit scooped up the largest of the bard’s travel bags and darted into the woods, leaving his bloodied weapon lying atop a pile of leaves beside his victim. When Jaskier pulled his hand away from the wound on his ribcage he grimaced; that was more blood than he’d been hoping to see. “Fucking cock.”

After he stripped to the waist and rinsed off in the river a second time, Jaskier took inventory of himself. The cut started at his left hip and slid up his ribcage to just beneath his left shoulder, and it was practically impossible to bandage; any attempt to wrap the upper half of his injury made him bite his lip to keep from screaming in anguish.

It was agony to move more than a few inches in either direction, since the twisting motion pulled at his torn skin and stung like hellfire. All he could really do was apply a loose poultice of chewed mint leaves to ward against infection and tie his shirt around his torso in lieu of a bandage. His cloak would have to work even harder than usual to keep him warm until Geralt arrived.

“Alright, well,” he muttered to no one as he accounted for the rest of his scattered clothing and supplies. “I need to find somewhere to rest and gather what wits I still possess… somewhere that’s still close enough for Geralt to find me. Shit, this isn’t good.”

The bard thanked every god he knew when he managed to find a small cave less than a hundred yards from the enormous oak tree where he met Geralt every year. He limped his remaining belongings into the slightly cramped space and deposited them against the left wall.

---

Fortunately for Jaskier, the idiot bandit had declared his beautiful elven lute “too bulky and annoying to carry”, and had left Sexy well enough alone. Unfortunately, the ruffian had still made off with all the bard’s coin from at least two months’ worth of contracted performances, most of his medical supplies, and most of his rations, as well.

But Jaskier had spent years at Geralt’s side and the Witcher had taught him how to deal with emergencies of every variety. Jaskier wasn’t about to disappoint his companion by flailing about ineffectively like some noble-born dunce at a time like this. No, Jaskier was determined to be healthy and ready to travel again by the time Geralt arrived in Kaedwen to find him. They only had a week or two together before they separated again for the winter and he wasn’t going to lose a single precious second in Geralt’s presence due to some silly highwayman.

Lovelorn fool that he was.

The bard used his remaining strength to gather a few armfuls of firewood and light some dried leaves with his flint and steel. He laid out his bedroll against the back wall so that he could see clearly if anyone approached from outside and wrapped his arms around Sexy to keep her safe. He re-wrapped his wound with more crushed mint and laid down to try and get some sleep.

Hopefully Geralt would arrive soon with his medical supplies and more water.

Hopefully.

---

After two long days spent huddled in a miserable lump at the back of the cave, anxiously scanning the horizon for any sign of another bandit (or Geralt) and unable to gather food or kindling, Jaskier was exhausted from lack of sleep. The wound in his side ached and burned far worse than it had on that first afternoon, aggravated by sweat and debris that had crept through his makeshift bandages.

Any added pressure around the edges of the cut made the skin nearly creak with the building strain of infection. He whimpered involuntarily every time he took a breath and trembled at any shift in the autumn breeze. It seemed as if his very bones were aching as his body flashed between the white-hot and freezing cold of a raging fever.

Slowly, and with a great effort on the part of his illness, Jaskier succumbed to the injury and sank into the quiet warmth of unconsciousness.

---

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, guiding Roach around another circuit of the old oak tree. “Are you there, Jaskier? We need to make it to the fork in the Pontar before the harvest ends and I’m in no mood for practical jokes.”

Nothing.

All his Witcher hearing picked up on were leaves twitching in the wind and a few rabbits foraging off to his left. Not even Jaskier could stay so still, even for a joke; his heartbeat and the uptick in his breathing would give him dead away.

“Well, I’m going to town.”

Geralt was about to wheel Roach back toward the road in search of a nearby inn when he caught a whiff of something on the wind - something that sent his heart plummeting into his boots.

Blood.

Jaskier’s blood. And it wasn’t fresh.

He dropped silently from the saddle and gave the signal for Roach to stay put. After a few careful breaths and some shuffling through the autumn leaves, Geralt discovered the bandit’s discarded dagger, still rusty-red around the tip and left edge.

“Fuck! Jaskier!” Geralt called, glancing around the small copse in the woods. “Jaskier, where are you!?”

The Witcher closed his eyes and tilted his head back to better clear his airways. He took a deep breath in through his nose and focused every one of his heightened senses on locating the bard. There it was again to his right, but slightly stronger. “Fucking hells.”

Geralt did his best to follow the trail without panicking. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if he lost his head while the bard was in mortal danger. If the bard was in mortal danger, he tried to reassure himself.

But if Jaskier had recovered he would have been waiting at the oak. Geralt knew that. He knew it with every fiber of his being, though he wouldn’t admit anything aloud. Jaskier’s long autumn absence had already set him on edge when he’d caught the blood-smell. “Gods-dammit, bard. Please be alive. Please, Jaskier, I can’t-”

Geralt bit his tongue and continued to follow the bard’s weak scent into the woods. After too many minutes - perhaps five or six at the speed Geralt was moving - the Witcher reached a small cave. The mouth of said cave was nearly covered-over with dry leaves and Geralt could tell, even from this distance, that Jaskier was not faring well at all. The whole area smelled like rot. Like decay. If it weren’t for the bard’s fluttering heartbeat echoing faintly from within the tiny cavern, the Witcher would have fallen to his knees and wept with despair at his untimely death.

When Geralt ducked inside and reached to pull Jaskier into his arms, the bard struggled weakly. “No, please,” he rasped. “D-Don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Jaskier,” Geralt replied softly. He shifted the thick leather strap of Sexy’s case over his shoulder and hefted the bard into his arms in one swift movement. Those usually brilliant blue eyes looked up at him in utter confusion. The irises were dull and foggy with sickness; the Witcher’s heart lurched in his chest and he turned back to the path, doubling his speed in his hurry to reach Roach. “You don’t have to worry any more, sweet Julek. I’m going to get you to safety.”

“If you must kill me-” Jaskier continued, muttering frantically as if Geralt hadn’t said anything at all “-then p-please do me one last f-favor. I need you to p-please find a Witcher. F-Find the White Wolf. Tell h-him… Tell him that I…”

Then the weight in Geralt’s arms seemed to increase by a fraction and the bard went silent. The Witcher shook the sweating, shaking bundle in his arms but Jaskier remained quiet.

“What do you want to tell him, Jaskier?” Geralt glanced down. His eyebrows furrowed deeply when he realized the human had fallen unconscious. The hummingbird pace of Jaskier’s fluttering heartbeat began to hammer even faster and his breaths were far too shallow. The Witcher rumbled out a determined, desperate plea the universe to save his darling songbird, followed by a quiet but emphatic, “Fuck.”

---

“Eskel!” Geralt kicked down the door to the kitchen of Kaer Morhen with one solid boot. He hadn't slept in two days and his body ached from sprinting up the path with a full-grown man in his arms. “Eskel, Vesemir, please!”

“Fuck, is that Geralt!?” Eskel came whipping around one corner at a sprint. Lambert and Vesemir were close behind, Lambert with a sword drawn and a scowl on his face. He lowered it when he saw that Geralt wasn't being pursued.

“Please, Ves, Eskel, please, help him to survive because I can’t- I can’t-” the White Wolf, for all his bravado and stoicism, was panting furiously. His kinsmen knew that he'd be crying if he had the capability to do so and crowded closer to help. Geralt immediately handed a warm, damp bundle to his Eskel with incredible gentleness and care. He looked up at the slightly taller Witcher and begged with all the strength he had left: “Please. I can't let him die.”

---

Jaskier woke up with a sharp gasp. His side radiated a dull, persistent kind of agony and he felt sick to his stomach. With a low groan he turned to retch off the side of the bed, into a conveniently placed bucket. He shouted when the movement made his wound ache all the more. “Fuck!”

The bard heard a heavy thud from his left followed by some clattering and a quietly whispered, “Shit.”

“G’ralt?”

“Jaskier!” the Witcher appeared at his side in a flash. Geralt leaned over him with a damp cloth in hand and wiped at the corners of his mouth. “You’re alive! Melitele be thanked. Do you need to be sick again? Would you like some water?”

“You’re o-oddly verbose,” Jaskier managed to half-smile.

“Was worried.”

“There’s my monosyllabic Witcher,” the bard grinned through his blinding pain. “It hurts, Geralt. Rather terribly.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t- We’re all Witchers so it’s not…” Geralt sighed and turned away to rinse the cloth in a bowl of cool water that had been resting on the sill. “We didn’t know which kind of herbs were safe for humans and which weren’t.”

“We?”

“How’s the patient?”

Jaskier's snapped to the doorway and his body automatically jerked in surprise. He whimpered at the reaction it elicited from his injury, his ribs blooming with a sharp sting. “Shit!”

“Fuck!” the red-headed man in the door replied, slamming his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry. Shit in the fucking nine hells.”

“Uh…”

“Jaskier, this is my brother Lambert. Lambert… This is Jaskier.”

“Ah yes,” the shorter Witcher smirked. “I’ve heard so much about you, Master Jaskier.”

“That I’m a royal pain in the ass?”

“Quite the opposite, really. In fact, when the two of you arrived, Geralt was nearly-”

Lambert’s statement was interrupted by a small wooden bowl to the side of the head, chucked across the room by a grim-faced Geralt.

“Nevermind. Anyway, glad to see you’re awake. I’ll let the others know that he's no longer going hand-to-hand with Death.”

“Others?” Jaskier glanced between Geralt and Lambert with wide, confused eyes. “Am I… Am I in Kaer Morhen!?”

“Aye,” Lambert winked. “And you slept through the first two days of snowfall, so I’m afraid to inform you that you’re stuck at Kaer Morhen for the rest of this season. I’ll let you and Geralt hash the rest of the details out in private. Tootles, Buttercup.”

And just as suddenly as Lambert had appeared, he was gone.

The bard turned to make eye contact with the White Wolf and blinked owlishly. “Wh-What did he mean about being here all winter?”

“I’m afraid he wasn’t lying,” Geralt returned to the stool beside Jaskier’s bed and sat down slowly, as if waiting for Jaskier to order him out of the room entirely. “Your injury was heavily infected and you were close to death when I found you in that cave at the base of the mountains. I ran the Killer in two days instead of one and brought you to Eskel and Vesemir for healing; they were the closest people I could think of who knew what to do to save you. I’m so sorry for trapping you here for the season when you should be teaching and composing in Oxenfurt. If you’d like, I can try to contact Yen or Triss and have them portal you back to the University before Yule.”

“Nobody would want to inconvenience a sorceress on their behalf,” Jaskier answered. "Myself included."

“So you don’t mind staying?”

Jaskier glanced up through his lashes, more self-conscious than Geralt had ever seen him before. “Were you really worried about me dying? Did you really carry me up the path all by yourself? In two days?”

“...Yes.”

“Why?”

Geralt felt his heart shatter to pieces in his chest. All these years spent thinking that if he was too obvious about his feelings he’d hurt Jaskier... and Jaskier had simply been waiting for any confirmation of his affections, friendly or otherwise.

"Because I..." the Witcher stood again and started to pace. "Because, Julek, I love you. I can't bear the thought of being parted from you. It's even worse because I know, I know that you're human and that I'm going to lose you too soon no matter what happens. Illness, age, injury... No matter how many years we have together they will never be enough."

Jaskier sniffled and Geralt turned on his heel to face the bard, hands already outstretched to offer comfort. "You enormous fucking idiot."

"Huh?"

"I have loved you since the moment I saw you sitting in the corner, brooding away," Jaskier grinned. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and dripped onto the blanket. "Why didn't you tell me? You couldn't even look me in the eyes and call me your friend..."

"Witchers aren't very good at romance, if you haven't noticed," Geralt laughed humorlessly. "I knew I was going to hurt you eventually. It was only a matter of time."

"Well now we have all winter to figure things out," Jaskier offered, sliding his hand across the mattress to twine his fingers with Geralt's. The Witcher's skin was cool against his own and it felt glorious.

"Hmm."

"No! No going silent on me now, you fucker!"

"Get some rest," Geralt smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jaskier's sweaty fringe. "I will be here when you wake."

"And tomorrow, too?"

Geralt smiled oh-so-softly and kissed him again, on the lips.

"And tomorrow, too."

#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fic #geraskier fluff #hurt/comfort geraskier #fluff geraskier #hurt/comfort #injury #blood tw #injury tw #jaskier whump #we're whumping the bard tonight #confessions #first kiss #geraskier getting together #bouncey's endless getting together fics #canon typical violence #canon universe #winter at kaer morhen #eskel and lambert #geralt is an idiot #whump and fluff

[geraskierficrecs]

Modern AU Stories

when midnights break their sleep by SummerFrost

The first Snapchat that anyone ever sends Geralt is a picture of his own irritated face.

shrike_princess: can u believe this dumbass finally got a snapchat bc a cute boy asked him nicely

"It wasn't even that nicely," Geralt says flatly.

AKA: The one where Geralt is a bartender and Jaskier sings karaoke.

(This is one of my favorite stories in the fandom.  I love it so much!!)

Give Me Nothing, Give Me You by dis

Ciri's kindergarten letter comes in the mail on a Tuesday. Geralt opens it, skims it, and frowns at the class his daughter has been assigned.

Dandelions.

Or: A modern AU with Dad!Geralt and Teacher!Jaskier.

Chopsticks by thisgirlsays22

“Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--

“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

The smile swiftly disappeared.

“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”

Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.

New Monster Stories by kathkin

“So do you have a name?”

“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.

Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”

The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”

It turns out almost getting eaten by a werewolf can make your whole life go careening off in a new, terrifying, wondrous, artistically flourishing direction. Who knew?

Where There’s a Witcher by ghostinthelibrary

Jaskier is a twentysomething recently unemployed journalist and amateur musician looking for his big break. So when he’s saved from the jaws of a wyvern by the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia, he comes up with a brilliant idea: he’ll follow the Witcher around and sing about their exploits. He’ll gain fame and fortune and Geralt will get a much needed image rehab. Everyone wins. Unless Jaskier goes and falls in love like an idiot.

Only Human Series by ghostintxelibrary

It’s a Tuesday, so someone is threatening to kill Jaskier.

Geralt doesn’t know why he’s surprised anymore.

Geralt moonlights as a superpowered vigilante called the Witcher, but his cover identity is the mild-mannered Geralt Rivia, reporter at The Continental Press. Jaskier is an entertainment writer at the Press and Geralt’s ex-boyfriend. He's obsessed with the Witcher, the vigilante who has saved his life multiple times. When Geralt is blackmailed by a powerful sorcerer into pursuing the Shrike, a serial killer who’s been targeting abusive men, Jaskier gets involved, despite Geralt’s best efforts.

(Seriously, all of her stuff is amazing.  Read it all.)

Thieves and Riches

Geralt is just trying to do a favor for an old friend when he finds himself tied up and shoved into a storage closet by a group of robbers. There he meets Jaskier, an enigmatic cat burglar who is a little too good at teasing a reaction of the normally stoic detective.

I’ll Never Be Free From Your Smile by whisperedstory

Geralt isn't sure how he got here, standing in his kitchen in black gym shorts and a baby pink—baby fucking pink—shirt that stretches too tightly over his muscles and has Toss a Coin written in sparkling gold letters across his chest while Jaskier is aiming a camera at his face.

Or: Jaskier is a YouTuber and Geralt is his best friend and roommate.

Next to You by Bean_Writes

Moving to a new town is one thing. Moving to a new town, becoming best friends with his neighbor and falling head over heels for her dad is something entirely different.

In his second year of college, Jaskier struggles with his undying crush on Geralt, Ciri's dad. It also doesn't help that the man's job involves him looking like an absolute wet dream come true, emerging from beneath a car, muscles flexing, slick with sweat and grease.

He's really fucked.

The Tale of Jaskier's Grudge Against Historians (and how they gave him his happy ending anyway) by notebooksandlaptops

[Text Sent From Ciri] Is there a reason why a love letter to Yen and Geralt is in the British Museum signed from you?? -C

[Text Sent to Ciri] Because Historians are nosey pricks. Do NOT tell your parents. -J

[Text Sent From Ciri] ;) – C

The winking face of a semicolon and a bracket stared up at him, composed of unforgiving pixels. She wouldn’t, would she? No. No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

-///-

Or, an exploration of the reason (immortal) Jaskier hates historians (hint: it's because they keep stealing his shit and putting it on display)

#modern au #modern witcher #no powers au #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #dad geralt #bartender geralt #fic recs #fic list #fluff #mutual pining #urban fantasy #modern magic #slow burn #idiots in love #geralt/jaskier #found family #thief jaskier #cop geralt #superhero au #musician jaskier #teacher jaskier #mechanic geralt #pining #pining geralt #pining jaskier #misunderstandings #angst #angst with a happy ending #immortal jaskier

[asweetprologue]

tension in a touch

Octoberfest 5: Hover

People were afraid of Geralt.

As Geralt’s half-official barker, Jaskier was deeply aware of this. His main obstacle in improving Geralt’s reputation was not hate, despite what Geralt thought. The witcher didn’t discuss it much, but when people shied away from him, when their heart rates skyrocketed, when they cast him sideways glances, Geralt assumed it was because they despised what he was. A mutant, a freak of nature, a monster. And he was right, in many ways, but Jaskier thought Geralt sometimes didn’t quite understand why human beings hated things. Almost always it was because of fear, and Geralt made people nervous. Jaskier was there to comfort them, and then to rally them. It was a process. 

Unfortunately, as they began traveling together Jaskier realized that he was afraid of the witcher too. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he hoped Geralt never picked up on it. Jaskier was drawn to the man anyways, of course. He’d been able to smell the adventure on him from across the tavern in Posada, literally. Dirt from the road, old blood rust and an air of tragedy clung to the man like a thick cloak. It had been a moment of clear and crystalized genius, when his eyes settled on Geralt. Jaskier had known that he would follow the witcher across the Continent even before he’d heard the man speak. 

But all his enthusiasm didn’t mean that Geralt stopped being intimidating as shit. Jaskier, fresh faced and still not used to the rough and tumble way of the world, was a little scared of him. Geralt was careful, always projecting his movements and making himself obvious, but something in Jaskier’s hindbrain still raised its hackles and screamed at him to run anytime Geralt was near. It was pure instinct, an animal recognition of a predator nearby. 

But it just wouldn’t do. If he was going to convince the world that Geralt deserved to be praised for his deeds, great as they were, he couldn’t be afraid of his own muse. So Jaskier decided that he would just do the exact opposite of whatever his instincts told him to do, until they learned to behave. 

He forced himself to be close to the witcher, all the time. At night when they settled down to sleep, Jaskier desperately wanted to put his bedroll on the other side of the fire. Instead, he plopped right down next to Geralt, receiving a brief glare that made him sweat. When they ate at taverns, Jaskier sat in Geralt’s space, instead of allowing the table to act as a barrier between them. After hunts, he made himself help wash off the worst of the muck and blood and ichor, at least so that people wouldn’t truly bolt at the first sight of Geralt down the street. 

Over time, he found that his palms sweat less, his fingers were steadier, and his heart stayed calm in his chest even when he was pressed shoulder to shoulder with the witcher. Geralt was often snappy, peevish and foul tempered, but he never hurt Jaskier after the first punch to the gut. And that was really on Jaskier for bringing up Blaviken. Generally speaking, Geralt was perhaps even overly cautious. He never returned Jaskier’s friendly gestures, carefully keeping distance between them as if he expected Jaskier to startle at every brush of their fingers. And he had, in the beginning. But slowly he felt himself grow less jumpy, a part of him learning to recognize that Geralt wasn’t going to harm him. 

It was fine, the neutral ground Jaskier had been searching for. Things might have stayed that way, if not for the cockatrice hunt. 

Jaskier had insisted on going along, as they were exceptionally rare creatures. He might never get the chance to watch Geralt fight another, he reasoned, and had worn Geralt down though a slow process of argumentation supplemented by a few strategically placed ales. Geralt had reluctantly agreed, warning Jaskier that he had to stay well away from the fight. 

They had both underestimated the beast. Jaskier got too close, he could admit; Geralt wasn’t paying him any mind, focused on dodging the creature’s massive tail and razor honed beak. It was a fascinating fight. The cockatrice was like a strange mix between a rooster and a lizard, its beady eyes watching Geralt intently as it used the ends of its hooked wings to claw into the ground. The fight was fast, almost too fast for Jaskier to follow. Geralt was like water, here one moment and gone the next, baiting the creature into reckless attacks and popping up somewhere else to hack at its flank. Occasionally the cockatrice would attempt to take off, and a concussive burst of aard would echo across the small field that they fought in, knocking it back towards the ground. 

Everything would have been fine, truly, if Jaskier hadn’t seen Geralt get knocked over by the cocktrice’s tail. He shouted in alarm from his place on the hill, far enough away not to draw attention to himself, if he’d kept his silence. The cockatrice, circling Geralt, looked up sharply at the sound, interested in a potentially less threatening meal. Milky eyes focused on him, and Jaskier felt panic pulse through his chest, so strong he wondered how he ever could have called his nervousness around Geralt fear at all. As the cockatrice turned to advance on him, he knew this was what real fear was. 

In that moment, Jaskier didn’t think. He didn’t do the smart thing, which would probably have been to run back towards the village and try to take shelter amongst the smattering of houses there. He didn’t do the cowardly thing, ducking down to try and hide where he was. Instead, he did the incredibly stupid thing, and ran towards Geralt. The cockatrice, being directly in his path, was probably thrilled. 

Jaskier ran faster than he ever had in his life. The cockatrice was barrelling towards him, and Jaskier took off at an angle, rushing down the small incline towards Geralt, who was already up from where he’d been knocked prone. Jaskier could see the moment that the situation caught up with him, Geralt’s eyes going wide and panicked as he realized the danger. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen Geralt move above a light jog before. The man usually let monsters come to him, rather than the other way around, but he was running now. He was amazingly fast, and Jaskier wondered who was faster. Geralt, or the monster. 

The cockatrice had flown up, gaining some distance. Probably to dive down and catch him with some momentum. It gave Jaskier a precious extra moment, but he could sense the bird-like creature getting ready to move. Geralt was only feet away now, sword held in reverse as he sprinted towards him, and Jaskier’s lungs were burning with exertion and fear. The cockatrice let out a shriek above them, and Jaskier heard a rush of air past its wings as it dove towards them. 

Jaskier ducked. 

Geralt slammed into him almost at the same instant that the cockatrice did, throwing Jaskier bodily to the ground as a shimmering golden field sprung up around them both. The cockatrice slammed into it full force, its huge body impacting with a horrible cracking sound and spinning off to the side. Geralt winced at the force of it, the quen shield shattering apart harmlessly. He was curled protectively around Jaskier’s fallen form, one hand - the one that had been holding his sword, now abandoned - clutching the back of Jaskier’s head. Protecting him from hitting the ground when he fell. 

For one brief moment the two of them were still, Jaskier fighting to get his bearings as Geralt hovered above him. Their faces were inches apart, Geralt’s panting breath ghosting over Jaskier’s cheek. His palm was warm against the back of his neck, and his strong thighs bracketed Jaskier’s hips in a grounding press of limbs. Though the danger had not yet passed, Jaskier felt a sense of pure, undiluted relief wash over him. Geralt was here, and nothing could hurt him. 

It lasted only a second before Geralt was back on his feet, stalking over to the fallen cockatrice. The creature’s wing had been greviously injured in the fall, and it was no hardship for Geralt to dispatch it once he retrieved his sword. Jaskier sat up slowly, wincing at his newfound bruises. Better than a cockatrice talon in the back of his skull, he thought, but he’d still be sore in the morning. 

Geralt stomped back over to him as soon as he’d finished the job. “I told you to stay back,” he growled. His face was stormy, but Jaskier had seen his expression just before the cocktrice dove. It had been just as panicked as Jaskier had felt, a naked fear and determination that Jaskier had never seen on Geralt’s face in battle before. He’d been worried. He was worried still. “I never should have let you come,” he grumbled, kneeling. Warm hands pressed over Jaskier’s shoulders, his chest, working their way through his hair to check for injuries. Where once it might have made Jaskier nervous, now he only felt warmth blossom under his breastbone. 

Placing a hand over Geralt’s where it rest just under his collarbone, he said, “I’m alright, Geralt. I’m not hurt.”

Geralt glared at him. “Not for lack of trying, bard. What possessed you to shout at it like that?”

Jaskier blushed. He was winded from the sprint, heart still pounding away in his chest at how close he’d come to serious harm, so hopefully Geralt would attribute the flush to exertion. “I, ah. Saw you fall. I was afraid you’d been hurt.”

A strong eye roll was directed his way. Whoever said witchers couldn’t feel apparently didn’t recognize annoyance as an emotion, because Geralt was clearly experiencing it. “I would have been fine, Jaskier. You could have died.” His hand was still on Jaskier’s chest, over his slowing heart. Jaskier was supremely comforted by the touch, in a way that perhaps should have been concerning. 

He gave Geralt a look he hoped was sufficiently chagrined. “It does seem I owe you my life, witcher. I hope to be able to repay you.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Just don’t go shouting at any more cockatrices in the near future.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaskier said, and then added, “but I know you’d be there to rescue me if I did.” He gave Geralt a grin, to take a bit of the edge off of the statement. It was too much, he knew, too much trust to put in the witcher’s hands. 

He was rewarded with an embarrassed huff of breath, and was allowed to watch as Geralt’s ears turned just faintly red. It was amusing, but Jaskier knew deep down that it wasn’t a joke. From then on, Geralt would always mean safety to him.

#october2020 #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #my work #fan fiction #fic #witcher #the witcher #I don't know how much I like this one tbh #I was kind of planning something different with it and it got away from me #maybe i'll expand on it later #anyways enjoy

[king-finnigan]

5 times Jaskier got sick and 1 time Geralt did

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist!

CW: being sick, vomiting

***

I.

He sneezes, and Geralt looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you getting sick?”

Jaskier scoffs, shakes his head, and continues prodding at the fire. “No.” He sneezes again. “Okay, maybe.”

“Hmm.”

He frowns. “Ooh, now that’s a ‘hmm’ I haven’t heard before. What does it mean?”

Geralt rolls his eyes and looks away, as Jaskier sneezes again. “It means I’m not going to take care of you if you get sick.”

Jaskier sneezes again. “Yeah, I figured that much.” He rubs at his eyes, which are slightly swollen from all the sneezing. “I’ll just firmly tell my body not to get sick, then. That always works.”

“Hmm.” He recognizes that one as a slightly amused ‘hmm’, and he smiles in triumph. Over the past few years, it has become a bit of a personal challenge to make Geralt laugh or smile as much as possible, and, while low on the tier list of ‘how amused is Geralt of Rivia?’, an amused ‘hmm’ is better than nothing. At least it’s better than an unamused ‘hmm’.

Like the one he gets, now, when he suddenly dissolves into a bout of coughing. “It’s fine,” he chokes out when he finally regains his breath. “Not getting sick.”

“We’re stopping at the next inn. You’ll stay there until you get better, and I’ll get some contracts.”

He wants to whine, tell Geralt he’s fine and he’s coming along with these contracts, but when he starts coughing again, he can’t help but admit that the Witcher is right. Though, when Geralt leaves him behind at the inn the next day, he finds himself wishing Geralt would stay.

 II.

He’s performing ‘Toss a Coin’ when he sneezes. The audience laughs, and he plays it off as a joke, making fun of himself, so the audience won’t, before he continues with his song. After he’s done, he graciously accepts his payment and a pint of ale, before he saunters over to the corner of the tavern, sitting down opposite Geralt.

“You sneezed,” is the first thing the Witcher says to him.

“Hello, Jaskier, what a lovely performance, Jaskier, thank you for paying for our dinner tonight, Jaskier,” he says in a mock-gruff voice. He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Really, Geralt, we talked about your conversational skills.”

“You sneezed.”

He dramatically lifts his hands. “So what? People sneeze all the time! It’s dusty in here, Witcher.”

“Your voice is rough.”

“Yes, that’s what you get for performing for three hours straight. You’re welcome, by the way.” He plonks his full coin pouch on the table, gesturing at it, eyebrows in his hairline.

“You’re snotty.”

“Well, now you’re just being downright insulting, Geralt. After all these years of me traveling by your side, and you have the audacity-“

“Jaskier. I can tell you’re getting sick.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s fine.”

Geralt looks at him, blinking slowly, almost lazily. His expression is almost bored, but Jaskier can tell from the little muscle that’s pulling at his lips, that the Witcher is getting annoyed. “Hmm.” Now that’s an ‘I don’t believe you for shit but I’m tired of arguing’-hmm, he can tell.

“Alright, maybe it’s not fine.” He points at Geralt. “But don’t you dare leave me at an inn again, like last time.”

“Why not?”

Cause it hurt my feelings, and I would love for you to take care of me when I’m sick. “I don’t want to miss out on any contracts and potential inspiration.”

“Hmm.” An ‘I can tell you’re lying’-hmm.

He simply changes the subject, for now, and hopes he doesn’t get sick in the next couple of days. He thanks all his lucky stars when he doesn’t.

 III.

He tries to keep quiet as he leans one hand against the tree, the other on his stomach as he retches, emptying the contents of his stomach in the leaves. He must’ve eaten something bad, or caught a stomach bug. He decides it doesn’t really matter, though, as another wave of nausea rolls over him. He gags again, trying to not make any sound.

Of course, it doesn’t work, and he soon hears Geralt’s voice behind him. “Jaskier.”

He closes his eyes, trying to keep down the bile that rises in his throat. “I’m fine.” The clipped and strained sound of his voice begs to differ.

“Hmm.” A ‘not even Roach would believe that’-hmm. Then: “Are you done?”

He holds up a finger, chokes down one last gag, before he stands up straight, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “I’m fine, let’s go.”

He turns around to find Geralt frowning at him, confused. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No. We’re not going anywhere but back to camp.”

He sighs. “I’m fine! We can go to the next town, don’t worry about it.”

“Hmm.” He narrows his eyes. Once again a ‘hmm’ he can’t identify. Strange. “Come on, Jaskier.”

He sighs, but follows Geralt back to camp, laying down on his bedroll when the Witcher motions at it. He does have to admit, laying down makes him feel a lot better, and pretty soon he finds himself dozing off to the rhythmic sound of Geralt sharpening his blades.

When he wakes in the morning, the Witcher gives him a piece of… some sort of root. “Ginger,” the Witcher explains roughly. “Helps.”

Jaskier shrugs and eats it. It doesn’t taste entirely pleasant, but it does make him feel better, and by midday, he’s ready to set out on the road again.

 IV.

“You’re limping.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“Hmm.” Another ‘I don’t believe you’-hmm. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

Jaskier stops walking when he no longer hears Roach’s hooves on the dusty path behind him, and he turns around. “Nothing! It’s really fine, there’s nothing going on. I appreciate you worrying, though, it’s very endearing.”

“Jaskier.”

He sighs, then shrugs. “Okay, maybe I got a cut on my leg last week that healed badly. So what? I assure you I’m perfectly fine, Witcher.” He starts stammering when Geralt dismounts Roach, stalking towards him. “A- and there is absolutely no reason for you to walk towards me, in- in a vaguely threatening manner- Geralt!”

He lets out an angry huff when the Witcher bends down, yanking the leg of his breeches up. “Hmm.” An ‘I’m very angry right now, but not at you’-hmm. “It’s infected.”

He shrugs again, pointedly looking everywhere but the reddened skin that surrounds the cut. “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about, r-really, and-“

He scrunches his face in confusion when Geralt lays a hand against his forehead. “You’ve got a fever. Get on Roach.”

“Geralt, as much as I have longed for you to say those three words for the past ten years, I assure you I’m perfectly fine.”

“Get. On. Roach.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright! Melitele’s tits, Geralt, if I’d known you’d kick up such a fuss over a simple flesh wound, I would’ve been more careful.”

“Hmm. You should be.”

He sighs, rolls his eyes, as he climbs on Roach. Geralt climbs on the horse behind him, and Jaskier tries to fight the furious blush that starts spreading across his cheeks at the feeling of Geralt’s chest against his back. They set out to the nearest town, where the Witcher gets a room at the inn and drags him to the herbalist for something against the infection.

The ointment the old lady gives them works wonders, and within two days, the infection has cleared.

 V.

It’s hard to breathe. Harder to move. Opening his eyes for more than two seconds isn’t even an option, anymore, and every time he does manage to pry his eyelids apart, the world is swimming around him, making bile rise in his throat. He’s hot. No- he’s cold. But now he’s hot again, and he’s sweating, but he’s also shivering, and good gods, what did he do to deserve this?

He sighs when he feels something cold and wet and rough against his forehead, seeping away some of the heat. He doesn’t know whether the droplet that slides down the side of his head is sweat or water, but he decides it doesn’t matter when a bout of coughing wracks through his body.

He’s tired, he’s so bloody tired, but he can’t fall asleep when the temperature keeps changing from hot to cold to hot again, when his lungs keep constricting in his chest pathetically, making him cough and wheeze, desperate for any gulp of air he manages to suck in. The shivering becomes uncontrollable, unbearable, even though he’s sweating, still. He finally manages to pry open his eyes, finding the room around him blurry and dark. He looks around, desperate for anything recognizable, anything that doesn’t give him the feeling that he’s floating in a vast ocean of his own goddamn sweat. Finally, he finds something silver, to his right.

“Geralt,” he manages to croak out, desperately gasping for breath soon afterwards.

“I’m here.” He could cry at that familiar voice, and he might actually be, when he feels another droplet slide down the side of his head.

“I feel like shit.”

“Hmm.” And amused ‘hmm’. But slightly worried as well. “Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“It hurts.” It does. Everything hurts. His muscles hurt, his lungs hurt, his head hurts, his eyes hurt. It fucking hurts.

Someone wipes his sweaty hair away from his forehead, knuckles trailing down his cheek lightly, and he figures someone else must be in the room because Geralt would never be this gentle with him. It’s already a bloody miracle he’s still here, really. “I know, Jaskier. I know. Try to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“Will you be there? When I wake up?”

“Hmm.” That’s a ‘yes’-hmm.

He sighs, his lungs aching. “Good. Cause I don’t want to wake up at all if you’re not there.” His eyes drift closed again, and he finds himself slipping into unconsciousness.

---

When he wakes up, he finds Geralt next to the bed, stuffed into an entirely too small chair, asleep. No way the position he’s in is comfortable – his neck craned at an awkward angle, his back barely supported by the hard wood. But he’s there, just as he had promised to Jaskier.

The bard smiles, and reaches out, pushing at Geralt’s knee. The Witcher wakes, amber eyes widening when he sees Jaskier. He immediately bends forward, laying his hand against Jaskier’s forehead, eyes studying his face. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit better.” He smiles. “You’re here.”

“I told you I would be.”

He laughs softly, eyes drifting closed again, sleep pulling at him limbs. “That, you did.” He shivers, the heat of the fever no longer keeping him warm. “Geralt, I’m cold.”

“There are no more blankets.”

He pouts, reaches out, eyes still closed. “You’re warm.”

He hears a long-suffering sigh, then the creaking of the chair. Footsteps across the room. He feels the dip of the bed behind him, feels strong arms closing around him, and he sighs in content, before frowning. “Won’t you get sick?”

“Witchers don’t get sick.”

“Okay,” he whispers, before falling asleep in Geralt’s arms.

---

By the time they finally leave the inn, several days later, neither of them has mentioned what happened, and Jaskier doubts either of them will.

 + I

He doesn’t think much of it when Geralt coughs a few times. He does find it strange when it happens more and more in the next few days. He grows suspicious when a fine sheen of sweat appears on the Witcher’s forehead, even if he says he’s fine and tells Jaskier to stop fussing over him like that, he’s just hot, is all. He’s had enough when red spots start to litter Geralt’s skin.

He forces the Witcher to go to an inn, and he’s glad he did, by the time they reach it. Geralt’s hunched over Roach’s neck, sweat dripping from his brow, his skin so spotted with red he almost looks sunburnt. Jaskier barely manages to get him up the stairs, and immediately drops him on the bed, where Geralt lays very still, staring up at the wooden ceiling, breathing heavily.

Jaskier helps him out of his armour, uncovering more and more red spots as he works his way down to Geralt’s boots.

“I’m fine,” Geralt rasps to him. He doesn’t believe it for shit.

“Yeah, no you’re not, Witcher. Looks like you’ve got yourself some measles.”

Geralt scoffs, though it sounds more like two pieces of sandpaper rubbed together. “Witchers don’t get measles.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, taking a washcloth, wetting it with some water from his waterskin. “Well, you did, so I suggest you change your views on that, Geralt.” He sits down on the side of the bed, gently laying the washcloth over Geralt’s brow, softly pressing it down. “You’re burning up,” he whispers.

“It’s fine.”

He smiles. “Go to sleep, Geralt. Get some rest.”

The Witcher sighs. “Hmm.” A ‘fine, alright, I’ll listen’-hmm. “I’m cold.”

Jaskier laughs softly, climbing over Geralt, laying down on his other side, hugging him to his chest. “Better?”

Geralt shakes his head frantically, weakly pushing at him – the fever’s clearly already taking a toll on him. “You’ll get sick,” he rasps.

“I had the measles as a kid. I’ll be fine, Witcher.”

“Hmm.” A content ‘hmm’. Then, suddenly: “Thank you, Jaskier. I love you.”

Geralt’s breathing evens out, as Jaskier pushes himself up on one elbow, looking down on his Witcher. Geralt is fast asleep, breathing deep and steady, face relaxed from its eternal frown. Jaskier smiles, laying down again, pulling his Witcher closer. “I love you too,” he whispers. Of course, Geralt doesn’t hear him, but he’ll say it again when he wakes up.

He’ll say it a million times if he has to – and he would mean it every time.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #drabble #500 followers celebration #5 + 1 things

[dapandapod]

So Jaskilion, thank you for the music, Jaskier wearing a gown, the bards just being somfte 🥺

Bards just being somfte, how about bards being somft HUSBANDS? For my sweet @jaskierswolf, after the wonderful ABBA marathon we had, and thank you @kuripon for doing a beta read in the middle of the night. My middle of the night, to be fair, but still!!

Warnings: mention of past harrassment and Geralt's accordion. That in itself needs a warning I think. Oh and, Dandelion is having a really bad day.

On Ao3 here! <3

Dandelion is so fucking tired. Some days are really just out to get you, and this day in particular seems to want him to have some sort of breakdown.

Anything that could go wrong did go wrong. Murphy’s law and all that. He stepped in a muddy puddle that was deeper than it seemed, he got stuck in the elevator for an hour, the trains were late, his boss were yelling at him (again, Valdo should go sit on something prickly), his computer froze while screen sharing during an important meeting, his food tasted vaguely like fish because the person before him didn’t obey the unspoken golden rule about not reheating fish dinners in their microwave in the office and -

Yes. Long fucking day.

The worst part about it?

He is this close to missing one of the most important nights this year, nay, his life.

Jaskier is singing tonight.

It’s been a while, a very long while in fact, since Jaskier stood on a stage last. When they met, Jaskier used to do musicals, karaoke nights, weddings. His voice is rich, beautiful, a voice that drives off the darkness of the night.

Jaskier sang at their wedding.

But after one particular incident while playing the lead role in a musical, a coworker who had harassed Jaskier to the extent that they had to go to court to keep him safe, Jaskier never stepped up on a stage again.

He tried.

Dandelion watched his hands shake, his face getting paler and sweat dripping down his neck. He heard his voice crack, his breath hitch, and the sobs in the back rooms where he thought no one could hear.

And then he just never performed for others again.

So tonight is very fucking important.

It’s just a small neighbourhood talent show, kitchen chairs collected and pushed together in front of a makeshift theater. Dandelion and Jaskier had helped prepare a few nights before, dining on the kitchen floor in wait for the big day, laughing and teasing each other.

And here Dandelion is, about to fucking miss it.

He looks at his watch one more time. It has already started, but Jaskier is the second to last act tonight, right before the big finale with Tissaia and her little magic helpers.

If he runs, he might make it. Hopefully.

Bursting through the doors, making old Vesemir jump in surprise, Dandelion makes it just in time for little Ciri to get up on stage and do her puppet show.

Gods, just in time.

Vesemir glares at him, but Dandelion just pats his shoulder as he passes, squeezing himself deeper into the room, closer to the stage. He has a stitch in his side from running, and this shirt will need a good washing tonight, but that is a small sacrifice.

Sitting down next to Ciri’s mother in the second row, he finally catches his breath. He is here. He made it.

Now he only hopes Jaskier makes it on the stage.

They talked about that too. There is no shame in backing out, none at all. Jaskier’s well being is more important than anything else. Dandelion will support Jaskier in anything he chose to pursue.

He just hopes the small spark Jaskier has been nursing these last few days will stay.

They all applaud politely when Ciri steps off the stage, Pavetta finally letting her phone fall into her lap, pausing what is sure to be the biggest spam on social media (this week) about her daughter’s many talents.

Ciri is an incredible girl; whenever they had the honor of babysitting her, she and Dandelion would spend hours by the piano. Or the guitar. Or the ukulele. Or the lute. Or the violin….

Triss walks up on the stage, thanking Ciri through a small and rather crackly microphone. Next up is Jaskier.

Dandelion's heart is in his throat. Jaskier didn’t want to tell him what song he chose, only that it would be something very special.

When his husband comes out on stage, Dandelion feels like he wants to fall to one knee all over again, butterflies dancing and swirling in his stomach.

The gown he wears is a deep blue, sparkling in the small spotlight, making him the focus of everyone's attention. Dandelion recognizes it immediately from Halloween a few years back, when there was a Eurovision theme.

Jaskier’s eyes roam the small audience desperately, and when his eyes fall on Dandelion, the tightness in his shoulders eases just a fraction.

He is still a little pale, and Dandelion can make out the small tremble in his hands when he reaches for the microphone in Triss’ hand, but oh, how very proud Dandelion is of him.

Jaskier’s eyes never let go of him, and when he walks the two small steps to the middle of the stage, Dandelion feels each foot fall through his own body.

“Thank you all for being here tonight.” Jaskier begins. “I would like to dedicate this song to the love of my life, and no, I’m not talking about this dress.”

Jaskier’s smile is blinding, and Dandelion hears the crowd chuckle.

“Dandelion, my beloved husband, thank you for always being there for me, thank you for drinking my terrible coffee, thank you for always, always believing in me. For always keeping the music alive within me, with or without words.”

Jaskier points to Triss on the edge of the stage, and she starts what is unmistakably ABBA.

“Thank you for the music, my love.”

The performance is a bit shaky. It is bound to be, Jaskier is fighting for every breath, every note, but it is every bit as beautiful and rich and clear as it ever was. As it has been in the shower, in the kitchen, in Dandelion's arms as they slow-dance around their living room at one in the morning.

The dress sparkles as Jaskier takes a few tentative steps, eyes again roaming the crowd, only to return to Dandelion to anchor him once more.

Dandelion could cry.

He registers Pavetta holding her phone up again. He will have to ask for the pictures (hopefully it's video) after. Right now, Dandelion's hand is pressed over his mouth, trying his utmost to hold back.

“I've been so lucky, I have a love with golden hair I wanna sing it out to everybody What a joy, what a life, what a chance.”

Jaskier sings, winking at Dandelion. Jaskier always loved Dandelion's blonde hair, playing with his curls, dragging his fingers through the silky strands.

The last notes ring out, and the audience clap politely again.

They don’t know how big this is.

Now Dandelion has to stay in his chair until Tissaia has finished her magic tricks, until the last little girls have scampered off stage, and Triss declaring Geralt and his accordion the winner for tonight.

Vesemir hoots loudly in the back, stomping his feet, and then Dandelion is out of his chair. The entire day has been shit, but to hold Jaskier in his arms, high on nervous energy and victorious joy, everything is forgotten.

The dress is a little scratchy under his hands, as is Jaskier's stubble against his cheek, but he holds him tight, as close to his heart he can muster.

“I am so proud of you,” he whispers, and he can hear Jaskier let out a happy little sniffle. “Let’s get home and get drunk off our asses.”

“We just need to find our chairs again, I’m not sitting on the floor in this dress,” Jaskier replies.

“How about no dress, the couch, and that strange cherry vodka you brought home the other day,” Dandelion bargains, kissing Jaskier's temple and grabbing his hand to walk back towards their house.

Jaskier thinks it over for a moment.

“Done. But only if we can blast ABBA so loud, the neighbours at the end of the street will hum Waterloo in their sleep!”

If Dandelion hadn’t already married this man, by gods, he would again.

#somft bards #jaskilion #dandelion/jaskier #somft husbands #the witcher #modern au #talent show #shitty day becoming a better day #supportive husband dandelion #jaskier wears a gown #imagine ABBA #then you are on the right track #dapanda writes #dapanda replies #it's 1am y'all #it somehow always is when i post huh #anyway enjoy

[fictionplumis]

Part 1

Listen I’m dumb so here’s more of that Ren Faire AU. I will not write an actual fic because my attention span is funky but anyone else can and they can either use this or not use this but here’s how these losers get together in my head. 

So Jaskier already knows he’s got a hard on for Geralt, obviously, he knew that from day one but he didn’t realize it could get WORSE, and it does get WORSE. It’s a couple weeks into Geralt working there and he’s busy so Jaskier doesn’t get to see him that often besides, like... Around the Faire sometimes, when Geralt is checking equipment and things and running errands, so obviously he’s dressed like he belongs at the Faire, which is super attractive and fits Geralt like a dream, plus he’s always kind of sexy and covered in dust or with a smear of grease on his nose from working on something, Jaskier is so down with that. 

Meanwhile Geralt also only sees Jaskier during the Faire and he likes Jaskier, is the thing. Jaskier got him the job, and it’s actually a pretty good job, he likes having a steady income and the work keeps him busy. He doesn’t actually have to deal with people. He also gets to travel. As much he liked fixing the old lady’s sink across the hall every other month (because she was old, and a plumber would take advantage of her, and she doesn’t have a lot of money to begin with, and he’s hardly ever busy and it’s just that the piping is old and keeps coming loose so it’s not even inconvenient) she doesn’t pay him with money, she pays him with overripe papaya and Yen was right, he actually needed a real job. 

He also likes Jaskier because Jaskier is just nice. Jaskier can talk enough for twelve people, so he’s never bothered that Geralt doesn’t have much to say. And he catches on quick to Geralt’s dry humor and snickers at his awful jokes. Geralt’s gruff attitude and perpetually bad mood never seem to dull his so yeah, Jaskier is just a general joy to be around. 

Then one night he can’t sleep so he decides to go wandering around. It’s two AM, the moon is bright, the air is fresh, it’s just NICE out and then he sees Jaskier sitting off at a picnic table and is like, okay, let’s go see what the bard is up to this early in the morning. 

He gets close enough and they both just freeze. Deer in headlights when they see each other. 

Because Jaskier is sitting there in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, eating Taco Bell he had Doordash drop off fifteen minutes ago and writing in a leather journal with a god damn fountain pen that looks like a big feather. Geralt has never seen Jaskier look so human before. He looks vulnerable and young and absolutely beautiful. 

Meanwhile Geralt is wearing an undershirt and jeans that show of his arms and this scar on his shoulder that Jaskier is dying to put his mouth on, and Geralt ALSO looks very human, and real, and not like some 16th century myth of a man, but like someone Jaskier could sit next to and lean against and talk to and maybe even drag this poor man back to the showers and wash out his hair because it had that look to it like Geralt had been sweating all day and hadn’t bothered to rinse it out well. 

They both realize right then and there that they are FUCKED. 

Geralt is like “Couldn’t sleep.” And Jaskier is like, “Need to keep my pop song list updated.”

And it’s awkward until Jaskier invites Geralt to sit down under the pretense of listening to his pop song covers and Geralt obliges but admits that he’s not really a music person, so he’ll probably just say that all of them are fine. And Jaskier’s like, “Cool, I was only going to pretend to take your opinion into consideration anyway, just to be polite.” 

They might make out that night. Who knows. Maybe they just decide that they like each other’s company way more than they thought at first so they keep meeting up like that and THEN make out one night. But they definitely make out one night. 

And after Geralt might end up calling Yennefer in a slight panic because he made out with the bard and fuck, now what, does this mean we’re dating, do I take him on a date, where do you think he would like to go on a date, he makes this little noise when he likes something and it’s great, I want to kiss him more but what if he doesn’t want to kiss more, Yen help. And she laughs and hangs up on his ass. The good thing is while Geralt is gruffly awkward in a way that doesn’t come across as awkward, Jaskier can not only talk for twelve people but also has enough confidence for twelve people, and the next morning he bounds over to kiss Geralt’s cheek and tell him his hair looks like shit and needs a good condition before work.

#the witcher #gerlion #geraskier #gerskier #geraltjaskier

[partialresonance]

Hi! You asked for Geraskier prompts. What about some fluff? Jaskier heard that Witchers can’t blush so he tries to make Geralt blush by complementing him ?

Yay, thank you for the prompt!! This was so much fun to write. :D

CW: mild innuendo, reference to beheading?? Otherwise it’s pretty tame. ~1.6k of fluff coming right up!

Jaskier is eighteen, and Geralt is quite the most interesting man he’s ever met.

Of course, he’s handsome too, which doesn’t hurt. But for the moment Jaskier is mostly concerned with the fact that he’s a witcher. Jaskier has heard countless rumors and tales about witchers but he never imagined he would have the chance to actually meet one. He can’t pass up the chance to confirm the truth of what he’s heard, straight from the source.

“Geralt, is it true that witchers can see through walls?”

Even though Jaskier has to jog to keep up with Roach and is only treated to a view of the man’s broad backside, he can hear the eye-roll in Geralt’s dry response:

“No.”

“Well that’s a shame. I imagine brothels would be quite interesting places if you could.” Jaskier’s lute bangs against the back of his thighs, and he hoists the strap higher on his shoulder. “Speaking of which, is it true that witchers have—ah, how to put this delicately—inhuman stamina?”

“I can outrun you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier puts his hands on his hips, his mouth twitching into a pout.

“You’re no fun at all, Witcher.”

What he won’t ask is if it’s true that witchers don’t have feelings. Jaskier had banished the idea as rubbish from the first, when he’d gone up to Geralt in that tavern in Posada and found him brooding. One cannot brood without feeling.

“Is it true that witchers can smell fear?”

At that, there is a telling pause.

“Yes.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. Can’t imagine how that’s useful though. I’ve always found it quite easy to tell when someone’s afraid, they go all bug-eyed and their hands start to shake and they stutter a lot.” 

“You’d be surprised.” Roach flicks her tail, narrowly missing Jaskier’s face. He dodges to the side, stumbling a bit on the dirt path. “Some people are good at hiding it.”

Jaskier shrugs, uninterested.

“Hmm, what else. What else,” he taps his chin, trying to dredge up the other rumors he’s heard.

“If you can’t think of anything else we could walk in silence,” Geralt says hopefully. Jaskier laughs, shaking his head. The very idea.

“Oh! I’ve got one.” He picks up his pace, jogging forward until he’s far enough ahead of Roach that he can turn and walk backwards, keeping ahead long enough to see Geralt’s expression. “Is it true that witchers can’t blush?”

“Where did you hear that one?” Geralt looks unimpressed. He flicks the reins and Roach springs into a trot; Jaskier has to leap to the side to avoid the devilish mare. Thankfully Geralt doesn’t seem intent on leaving him behind; after a few paces Roach slows to a walk again, though Jaskier is huffing by the time he finally catches up.

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier wheezes, clutching a stitch in his side. He waves a hand vaguely. “Around.”

He’d heard it in reference to the only place on a witcher’s body blood could rush to, but, well. Geralt doesn’t need to know that.

“Yes. It’s true.”

“Is it really?” Jaskier squints up at Geralt. He wishes he was a witcher who could sniff out lies. “You know it’s illegal to lie to a bard, don’t you?”

Geralt doesn’t answer, and now that Jaskier has run out of questions his mind seizes on a new game.

Make Geralt blush.

“Hey, Geralt!” Jaskier swings his lute around and plucks a few notes. “You ever heard the one about the fishmonger’s daughter?” And without further ado, he launches into the most downright filthy version he knows. It’s barely even innuendo, containing outright descriptions of exactly what the fishmonger’s daughter likes to do with her catch, even including a few dramatic moans and sighs on Jaskier’s part because he is nothing if not an excellent performer. He keeps a close eye on Geralt’s expression, but to his dismay all he sees is the gradual tightening of his jaw and flattening of his eyebrows. By the end of the song he looks downright murderous.

“I’m guessing you didn’t like that one. Heh.” Jaskier plucks a discordant note, underlining his failure to please the witcher with his song, as well as rouse even the faintest of pink tones to his pale skin. “Well, not everyone has a sense of humor. That’s alright.”

Damn it. What could he do to make a witcher blush?

After another mile or so Jaskier is forced to admit that the sex angle simply doesn’t affect the witcher. He’d tried everything--describing some of his own conquests, real and imagined, and he’d even faked a limp and sighed wistfully about his night with the innkeeper’s son! None of it has any effect on the man. And, with a cruel spike of embarrassment that brings heat to his own cheeks, Jaskier abruptly realizes it’s because the century-old witcher likely has seen and done things he can scarce imagine. 

It’s all old hat to him, then.

“Have it your way then, you big old brute.” Jaskier consoles himself by playing his favorite songs at the loudest possible volume, his voice echoing off the canyons. He thinks Geralt has mostly tuned him out, until abruptly he wheels Roach around and makes a sharp gesture at Jaskier. His yellow cat-eyes scan the surrounding hills.

“Shut up, bard.”

Jaskier scoffs, and strums a few loud chords.

“Well you could at least ask nicely if you’re--”

An arrow stabs into the ground, an inch from Jaskier’s foot. Jaskier jumps into the air with a yelp.

Bandits seem to pour down from the hills, and Geralt and Roach charge in to deal with them. Jaskier, weaponless and frightened, darts off of the path in the opposite direction, down a small gully to hide behind a bush.

Well, he hasn’t lived this long by sticking around for the danger! Someone has to live to tell the tale, after all.

It’s over faster than Jaskier would have imagined. He catches glimpses of Geralt moving smoothly through the fight, a whirlwind of steel and white hair. The big witcher actually looks graceful, spinning on one heel and swinging his arm in a broad arc to lop off the last bandit’s head. Jaskier swallows, feeling odd and sort of warm all over.

When he’s certain the bandits are dead he doesn’t hesitate to scramble up the hill to where Geralt is standing amidst the carnage, sheathing his sword.

“Do people do that a lot?” Jaskier tells himself his voice isn’t that shaky as he brushes off the knees of his trousers and hoists his lute onto his back. “Just attack you out of nowhere?”

“Hmm.” Geralt stands from where he’d been crouched over one of the corpses. He slips their purse into Roach’s saddlebags, then mounts her in a smooth motion.

Jaskier wrinkles his nose at the corpse. He doesn’t usually see death up close like this--his experience is more of the ‘passing by the suspicious lump in the alleyway without looking too closely’ variety. He’s frightened, but with Geralt at his side starts to feel a little bit brave. The bandit certainly isn’t scary like this, with his stupid head lying across the path. He sticks his tongue out at the corpse and then jogs after Geralt and Roach.

“Well, they should know better, shouldn’t they? I don’t think you even broke a sweat.”

“Hmm.”

“No, I mean it. That was genuinely impressive.”

“Shut up, bard, or you’ll draw more of them.” Geralt turns his head away, but not before Jaskier catches something interesting in his expression. He jogs forward, until he’s striding beside Roach and level with Geralt’s knee. If he looks out of the corner of his eye he can just barely make out Geralt’s face. A sly smile curls his lips.

“Do people ever compliment you? Or are they too busy shitting themselves because you’re a big, scary witcher?”

Geralt stares straight ahead. 

“That’s a shame, really. Compliments do wonders for the self-esteem. I can’t go long without one before I simply wither away like an autumn leaf. And there’s so much to compliment you on.”

“Fuck off.”

“Geralt, I’m being serious.” Alright, so maybe he was also teasing a bit, but Jaskier’s voice took on a strident, genuine note as he turned his head to gaze up at the witcher. “What you did back there might seem like nothing to you, but I was terrified. If they wanted to kill me they could have done so easily, except you were there so now they’re all lying in pieces while we make our merry way on. Take that, bandit, you don’t need your legs!” Jaskier laughs and makes a slicing motion as if severing an imaginary bandit’s torso from his lower appendages.

“It’s nice, not to have to be afraid of whatever random asshole comes my way. I think I’ll stick with you after all. It doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes as well.” Jaskier winks. Geralt keeps darting his eyes between Jaskier and the path ahead. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, but Jaskier doesn’t think it’s in a bad way at all. “Big witcher man with your nice hair and all that muscle beneath your armor. You looked like you were dancing, you know.”

“Jaskier…” It’s a low growl, a warning, and it sends a shiver straight down Jaskier’s spine. He bites his lower lip to keep from smiling too broadly, and that’s when he sees it:

The distinct, pale pink undertone blooming to life beneath Geralt’s glowing (beautiful) yellow eyes.

Oh. Jaskier is in trouble.

He clears his throat, taking a few steps to the side and letting Roach get a little bit ahead of him. He strums his lute, a spring in his step as he follows his witcher, imagining feeling the heat of Geralt’s blush beneath his fingertips.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #the witcher #fluff #fanfiction #geraskier prompts #my writing

[friendofhayley]

I’m back after my hiatus from fanfiction, to give y’all the best multifandom recs of the fics I read this month. Shoutout to all content creators who helped us live to see the close of this year. This fic includes 15 fics for Sterek, Larry, Winteriron, and Geraskier. The starred ones put me through heaven and hell *chef’s kiss*.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

1. Six Letter Word for Romance by @troubleiwant | domestic kink - omg there’s only one bed - soft Derek - oblivious idiots in love - 6k

Stiles definitely starts off thinking it’s fucking hilarious that Derek-sourwolf-Hale does crosswords and cares about scuffs on his furniture.

But at a certain point, and he can’t pinpoint exactly when, “fully functional adult couple” somehow becomes a massive fetish of his. Derek in sweats and bare feet, nudging his glasses up his nose while he does the Sunday crossword? Unff. Derek filling out forms to get some renovations on his property approved? Oh God, yes. Derek putting away groceries and bitching that the corner store was out of the right type of Greek yogurt? Take me now, Stiles thinks, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

This can’t be normal.

2. *Dirty Little Secret* by @isthatbloodonhisshirt | Cora & Stiles bffs - no one can resist the Stilinski charm - celebrity Derek - human au - 91k

“Holy shit, this is a date!” he blurted out, turning back to Derek wide-eyed. “This is a date! You intended for this to be a date, this was supposed to be a date!” He figured if he said it enough times, maybe he would believe it, but so far, no dice.

Derek was scowling again—seriously, did he want wrinkles?—but he just reached into one of the bags and pulled out a burger, checking what was written on the foil in sharpie before handing it over to Stiles.

“Of course it’s a date, what did you think this was?”

3. Can You Feel A Whole New Part of Your World? by @isthatbloodonhisshirt | i genuinely don’t look at authors names i just click i am sorry for spamming you but you write too good - neighbors Sterek - emotionally mature Stiles - the ideal fluffy world you’d want to live in - 53k

Can you hear me singing in the shower?” Stiles blurted out, because he had to know, now. If one of his neighbours had slid that note under his door, then it meant Parrish as another neighbour could hear him, too! He had to know if this was all a huge joke and one person had walked by and overheard him and decided to fuck with him.

Parrish gave him a weird look at the question, but answered anyway, making Stiles’ plans to leave the country speed up in his mind.

“Of course I can. You’re actually not bad. Though you have been singing a lot of Frozen lately, getting kind of tired of the soundtrack.”

4. Theory of Overprotective Canines by @petals42 | derek can turn into wolf - oblivious Stiles - future fic - mutual pining - 11k

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

Larry (One Direction)

5. **The Changer and the Changed** by @homosociallyyours | literally the best fic of all time i want to live in there - girl direction - NYC ‘70s au - trans Zayn - the girls are so lovely - 59k

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians.

Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love.

When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene.

6. others i’ve seen might never be mean (but they would never do) by @cherrylouvol6 | aaaaaaaa it’s lesbian When Harry Met Sally !!! - rom com - girl direction - coming out and first times - really great sex - 20k

Louis sighs.

“Do you remember what I said to you the first time we met?”

“That I’m naive and neurotic and would be hard pressed to ever find someone who could put up with me?” Harry snaps.

7. some things fade (some never do) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed | aaaaaa this story took me apart and back together again just like Louis and Harry - urban fantasy au - second chances - exes to friends to lovers - hurt/comfort - 25k

Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching or magical ones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.

Back then.

8. we can take the long way home by @eleadore | i usually don’t rec my porn but there’s so much feels in this one - canon-divergent - kink discovery - friends to lovers - this was written in 2015 as a future fic but it felt like it was taking place now so good job - 27k

“Fertile,” Louis says, and then laughs because it sounds stupid to say out loud. He hasn’t ever really thought of himself in those terms. Baby-making terms. It’s just one of those things his body can do, like exercise, or go without tea. Doesn’t mean he will.

Winteriron (MCU)

9. **Dig No Graves** by @missaphelion | Tony finds out about his parents right after winter soldier au - Tony Stark has a heart - Bucky heals with bots and lots of sugar - slow burn - 142k

"I'm here to kill you, Terminator," Tony said slowly, "does that compute?"

The soldier looked up at him with wide blue eyes and no expression. "Okay."

Tony froze. "Okay," he echoed. "I tell you I came here to kill you and your response is 'okay'?"

10. A Rifling Matter by Penndragon27 | Winter Soldier has such a big crush on Tony’s weapons, he escapes Hydra au - identity porn - pining Bucky - fluff and angst - Winter Soldier is a fanboy and it’s cute - 37k

All the Asset knows is fighting, killing.

He also knows a good weapon when he sees one and Stark Industries... they make some great weapons.

11. *Winter is Coming (aka Fifty First Avengers Dates)* by @tisfan & @everyworldneedslove | enemies to friends to lovers to 50 first dates - pining Bucky - Tony gets amnesia - no Steve bashing but he’s a little bit of an ass - mental health issues - 109k

Bucky Barnes is still mostly The Asset, and he's pretty sure Hydra is going to come back for him soon, so in the meantime he's just going to keep an eye on the Avengers for them. But then Clint spotted him hiding in the shadows, so Tony came out and dragged Bucky back to the Tower, threw him in the shower, and fed him cheeseburgers.

Now The Asset is having anomalous feelings. In his pants.

Geraskier (The Witcher)

12. *no reason to run* by @yoursummerfrost | different meeting au - only one bed but camping - cursed Jaskier - soft Geralt!!!! - poly negotiations - 61k

"You'll change your mind one day," says the innkeep. "The road can't love you back."

What a strange way to flatten something so beautiful, Jaskier thinks. What a small way to love.

13. *He Fell into a Faerie Ring* by @geraltnoises | Jaskier gets bardnapped after the fight au - non-human Jaskier - soft Geralt - Jaskier encourages people to be kind and becomes a god - emotionally mature Geralt - 57k

Traders are a gossiping sort. If there was a scandal within the noble houses of Posada, you’d hear about it in Cretegor by the end of the week. So, the quick spread of a rumor about a little village in the Kestrel Mountain range was not at all surprising. What was surprising was the story that the traders wove. They said that Luibhtorrach, a sad, ghost of a farming town, had miraculously become a hub for trade, as if overnight. Their lands unbelievably fertile and brimming with crop. Even stranger, each and every one of Luibhtorrach’s people professed that their good fortune was the work of a mysterious beast they’d claimed as their personal deity. Most recent news foretold of their plans to throw a midsummer festival celebrating this newfound god. In preparation, silken blue banners were erected in every corner of the town, each bearing the symbol of their new patron: A delicate dandelion wrapping around a golden sun.

14. Barking Up the Wrong Tree by KHansen | 5+1 things - I’m worried about Geralt’s skills - non-human Jaskier - monsterfucker Geralt - crack treated seriously - 11k

Geralt is 100% certain that Jaskier is a vampire.

He's 100% proven wrong.

15. Bardic Idyll by Lisztful | fake relationship - Geralt is soft and oblivious - pining - fluff and angst - Jaskier you can’t show your emotions mainly through song! - 13k

Jaskier is certain he can win the Continent's annual bardic competition, but he needs to be accompanied by a dashing romantic companion in order to enter. Enter Geralt, who is definitely, for sure, only interested in the free food, and not at all in staring lovingly into Jaskier's eyes.

#monthly fic rec #fic rec #sterek fic rec #larry fic rec #winteriron #geraskier #larrie hijinks #witcher #mcu

[ohwhoopsok]

I posted 1,250 times in 2022

That's 524 more posts than 2021!

18 posts created (1%)

1,232 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@multiplelizards

@digitalmeowmix

@silver9mm

@contemplativepancakes

@zmediaoutlet

I tagged 295 of my posts in 2022

#wincest - 13 posts

#fic recs - 8 posts

#the witcher - 6 posts

#whoops' whining - 6 posts

#whoops' words - 6 posts

#boost! - 5 posts

#my writing - 5 posts

#op your mind... - 3 posts

#^^^ - 3 posts

#tag game - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#….i mean sam did get to be the car for a little while like there was one brief shining moment where he was everything dean loved at once

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

🦚 geraskier fic rec 🐺

Better Than The Memory by objectlesson (E)

Warnings:

Squick and possible consent issues re: clothing?? Idk.

Author’s Summary:

Sure, Geralt was muscley and had beautiful, shapely, irritatingly symmetrical lips and an ass shaped by the hands of the gods themselves but—those features alone have never been enough to do it for Jaskier. He’s not a ruffian. He needs a little more than natural strength, he needs effort. It shouldn’t matter that Geralt is gifted in certain areas because he bathes once a week maybe if they’re lucky and lives in his armor and kisses his horse on the mouth and is otherwise a truly disgusting human. Or not human. A truly disgusting witcher.

So it’s absurd and quite shocking, really, when Jaskier starts to get hard every time he can smell Geralt of Rivia’s sweat.

Whoops’ words:

So. I’m working on a fic that involves some sweat/pit/stink kink, right? And I thought to myself hmm lets see what that ao3 tag is like, real casual, just out of curiosity...... 👀💦 Listen to me, listen-- I wasn’t even remotely prepared for this?? This shit is so hot, I’m embarrassed in my office by myself.

Jaskier’s just so fucking desperately turned on the whole way through and disgusted by how horned up he is about Geralt being fucking gross and well fuck me dude I guess I feel that on a newly awoken personal level?

And of course Geralt can smell that. I love fics where Geralt knows what’s up all along and just doesn’t say anything until the climax, no pun intended. And woof what a climax it is, because besides being so ungodly hot, there’s a few emotional lines that made me just--get up and walk in a circle for a second.

This fic is like 2 years old and I’m not sure she even writes for the witcher anymore, but boy howdy if you’re into raunch, give this a look. ⭐

4 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

#4

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Hey! @resident-lambert-hoe tagged me! How dare you call me out like this in my own home!!

Just kidding, sure, let’s play! 💕 For my own sake, only going to count the ones that are actually in some way “in-progress”, as in I have opened them recently and still tend to them, because… I got folders full of bunnies and wildflowers I’m letting grow wild until I figure out if they need to be cleaned up and presented to the world wild web. 😅

…This was almost embarrassing to type out lmfao, the Fandom Trumps Hate fics get such nice, organized titles and then just jdfiasdlfasj BUT I only count 15 truly in progress WIPS. Plus another FTH fic once I get the prompt that will take spot #3, but I digress...

In order of most recent edits!! (with ships in parentheses)

1.      SPN - FTH2022 - vaderlingo - WOK (Wincestiel)

2.      AFTG - FTH2022- bri - AD (Andriel)

3.      RE8 TD SCL (Duke/Reader)

4.      TW ves om (Vesemir/Jaskier)

5.      TW Soft As Witchers (new part! Jask/Lambert + Jask/Geralt, Jask/Eskel)

6.      TW Stagger (Jaskier/Letho)

7.      TW Snake Charming (Jaskier/Letho +or/ Gaetan, tbd)

8.      AFTG Crumb Snatchers (new part! Fox Found Family)

9.      TW Snakelings (Jaskier/Letho)

10.   Stanford Open Door Policy (Dead Dove Warning: Lucifer/Sam, eventual Dean/Sam)

11.   RT Siren Head (RPF: gen? tbd, Fiona & The Twins)

12.   RT 67 (RPF: 🙂🧨)

13.   LADS FIGHTING (RPF: poly Fakes)

14.   SPN AdamSam (on the tin)

15.   Hand Crafted (Destiel, eventual Destiel/Sam/Meg)

If you read this far and want to play, this is me tagging you, BUT uhhhhhh

@tapnbluesnlindyhopdancer @alwaysthrowsscissors @samanddeaninpanties

@mumble--bee @wrenseroticlibrary @silver9mm would y’all like to play? 🤗

5 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

#3

Pausing to hop on the fandom celebration train before I dive headfirst into NaNoWriMo season!

👏🏾 Leave a kudos on a fic (witcher - geraskier)

well-rounded by PenAndInkPrincess is a great example of the cutagens tag, dude, it’s about how Geralt’s cat eyes give away when he likes things, including a certain bard.

👏🏾 reblog an art post (supernatural) I’m cheating bc I’ve shared this before, but the boy king deserves to be seen twice, so feast your eyes again.

👏🏾 message a creator (all kinds of shit bc he’s talented) Done via DM!

👏🏾 make a rec post (witcher - geraskier) SO, I wasn’t sure how to go about this one but objectlesson wrote a fic so good it stressed me out this afternoon, so I made a rec post for Better Than The Memory (Rated E, squick warning)

👏🏾 reblog a fic post (supernatural - sastiel)

Right Here, Right Now by @alwaysthrowsscissors​ because I’m clearly a maniac and left it in my likes tbr but *sniffs thoroughly* YEP, STILL GOOD 🤤

👏🏾 comment on a fic (teen wolf - sterek) Went back to find At least the Road to Hell is paved, I'm not good with Stairways by lady emebalia, because I was too embarrassed to comment on a fic for a fandom I wasn’t even in BUT it’s really good and she put a lot of work into it, so frankly, she’s owed her flowers. 🌹

👏🏾 reblog an edit (911 - buddie) 911 is sorely underrepresented on my blog, but I’m a clown for a good buddie edit and this one is fantastic.

👏🏾 interact with a meta post (supernatural - wincest) I’m cheating, because used this John Finds Out about Wincest meta post @mannequin3thereckoning​ shared on her bingo BUT thing is, I love this fucking trope so much and op’s galaxy brain is wide open.

Idk if this counts as a blackout truly but it was fun, thank you for sharing the event, @thehighfiveproject​!

6 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

#2

i’m working on edits for something and i mentioned dean liking leaving hickeys and got caught up in the thought of big, flowery splotches of plum sticking out of the collar of sam’s monkey suit and he just laughs it off when someone looks at it “yeah the missus got a little carried away, it’s hard traveling for work” blah blah all while knowing good and goddamn well dean’s got on panties under his suit because loves being sam’s needy little wife i rest my case your honor

37 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

🚨Roe's Emergency Fandom Response 🚨

We all heard they shot Roe. In the spirit of leaning into anger > despair, I’m making a very informal invite to tumblr at large.

If you are a creator willing to make something as thank you gift for people who make a donation to an abortion fund or a person willing to be said donor, hear ye, hear ye.

I threw together a google form for creators whose inboxes are open to people coming to them with requests in exchange for donations to an abortion fund or other reproductive justice organization. Assuming this gains traction, potential donors can review interested creators here.

Of course, if google makes you itch, feel free to just reblog this post and share your specific details/offerings below.

This is not a formal/moderated event. It's just a repository to keep a running list of interested creators for donors to review. Specific details (what will be created, minimum/proof of donations, timeline for completion, etc.) will need to be worked out between creators and donors BEFORE the donation is made.

You can message me at any point if you’d like your response deleted from the google sheet.

And as always, you’re not hopeless.

Thank you. Even being here counts for something, so thank you, thank you.

522 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i stand by all my fic recs!!!

[valdomarx]

*Ahem* don't know if you write prompts or not, but think of this: Jaskier is coming with Geralt to Kaer Morhen, both of them still not in anything romantic/sexual. But it's not Jaskier who's adored and loved by everyone. It's Geralt, their favourite winter bitch. Jaskier stumbles across him being fucked by Lambert, and Geralt comes, looking into his eyes; sees him sucking Eskel off in his bedroom. He had no idea Geralt can be so relaxed and slutty. In the end, they all have some hot group sex.

Anon, you’re a genius. I present to you the Geralt is the slut of Kaer Morhen fic we all secretly wanted.

Jaskier has been waiting months for this, to see the famous Kaer Morhen for himself, to talk with the other witchers Geralt trained with and to hear their stories. He couldn’t believe his luck when Geralt actually agreed to bring him here for the winter, despite the fact Geralt barely seems to tolerate his presence even after all these years.

Walking through the great gate to the crumbling castle takes his breath away, the sad state of the deteriorating walls somehow an apt metaphor for the strong but underappreciated men who live here. And meeting the other witchers is a revelation, each of them throwing Geralt’s character into sharp relief in the way that seeing someone among their very old friends inevitably does.

–

The castle is as homey as one could hope for from a tumbledown ruin, and the witchers have taken care to provide Jaskier with what he might need. Despite their reputation for brutality, they are clearly considerate hosts. The room he is shown to on his first night has a spacious bed, a bowl and a pitcher of water for washing, and even a little tray with some dried fruit on it.

What it is lacking, however, is more than one thin blanket. Witchers don’t feel the cold the way humans do, it seems, and Jaskier lasts bare minutes in bed before he decides that if he doesn’t find something warm to sleep in, he might actually freeze to death before morning.

He does his best to navigate through the twisty corridors and crumbling staircases to Geralt’s room, hoping to beg a spare blanket. But as he approaches the room, he stops short when he hears something unexpected.

The door is cracked enough for him to hear wet slaps and a throaty groan, and Jaskier is not restrained enough to avoid taking a peek. Glancing through the narrow opening, he sees Geralt on his knees, face pressed into Eskel’s crotch, who has his hands twined into white hair and is thrusting down Geralt’s throat.

“Oh, you feel so good, I’ve missed your mouth,” Eskel is panting, and Geralt lets out a high pitched whine which Jaskier has never heard from him before. “Sucking me off so well.”

Jaskier’s pulse races. This is not a side of Geralt he’s ever seen before. Before now, it’s been rushed and infrequent stops at brothels, Geralt disappearing with the occasional adventurous girl in the larger towns. Not this, Geralt pliant and tactile, taking cock down his throat like he’s done it a thousand times.

There’s a thrill of temptation to stay and watch some more, as fucked up as that is. But Jaskier knows how Geralt values his privacy, so he forces himself to turn around and go back to his room.

Once he’s back in bed, the thought of Geralt on his knees keeps him plenty warm.

–

In the morning, Jaskier carefully and deliberately slots the “Geralt and Eskel are fucking” knowledge away and out of his conscious mind, and makes an effort to get to know his hosts. They’re prickly and a little distant, all of them, but if Jaskier can handle that from Geralt he can handle it from these Wolves as well.

He uses his most charming smile to tease a story about fighting a striga out of Eskel, then helps Vesemir prepare and pickle the last of the fresh vegetables to see them through the cold months.

When he heads to bed that night, he swears he doesn’t walk past Geralt’s room on purpose. It happens to be on the route between the kitchen and his room, so it can hardly be avoided. He does, admittedly, slow just a little as he walks past Geralt’s door, left ajar once again.

But this time, he doesn’t hear the deep, scratchy voice of Eskel. This time, it’s Coen’s sinuous tones carrying down the corridor.

And, look, Jaskier never claimed to be a morally upstanding person, okay? And, well, he’s curious. He’s getting a whole new view of his friend. So he takes a peek through the gap in the door.

Geralt is stripped mostly naked and pressed face-first against the wall, with Coen behind him. Jaskier can see by the flick of Coen’s wrist and the way Geralt is practically humping the wall that he has at least two fingers inside him.

“That’s it, good boy,” Coen is saying, voice low. “Gonna open you up nice and loose before I fuck you. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, yes, I want it, want your cock,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier nearly fucking passes out. He had no idea Geralt could be so… vocal.

He retreats to his room at a clip, and if when he’s in bed he shoves a hand beneath the covers while thinking about the sounds Geralt makes when he’s needy to get fucked, then no one needs to know about that, do they?

–

Jaskier spends the next day very much not thinking about Geralt’s sexual proclivities, thank you very much, and remains focused on ingratiating himself with the Wolves by helping patch up some of the damaged exterior walls. It’s hard, physical work, and by the end of the day his hands are cracked and bleeding, but he’s determined to prove that he can be useful.

Geralt catches his eye at one point and gives him a strange look.

“Do I have cement on my face?” Jaskier asks.

“No,” Geralt says, “you were just looking at me like…” He blows out a breath. “Never mind.”

Shit. Jaskier resolves to be more circumspect in future. He’s going to have to be if he’s going to last the winter here.

Of course, he’s circumspect to a point, but he still has to walk down the corridor past Geralt’s room that evening, his pulse picking up before he even gets close.

This time, the door is wide open, without even a hint of propriety. When Jaskier walks past, there’s absolutely no way he can avoid seeing Geralt naked on all fours on the bed, Lambert behind him using a handful of long hair to yank his head back.

“That’s it, moan for me like the slut you are,” Lambert hisses, slamming into Geralt with deep, hard thrusts. “You know you fucking want it.”

Geralt’s massive shoulders flex and sweat drips down his brow, and he moans in the most filthy way. His eyes are scrunched shut, but when Jaskier’s breath hitches Geralt’s eyes fly open, looking straight at him through the doorway.

Jaskier panics, because even if Geralt having noisy sex with the door open is a bit rich, that still doesn’t excuse his gawping.

But Geralt doesn’t look angry. In fact, he stares at Jaskier in a manner that can only be described as hungry. Jaskier’s heart pounds.

Behind Geralt, Lambert doesn’t let up. He does throw a smirk Jaskier’s way though. “Enjoying the show?” he drawls.

“I…” For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Jaskier is at a loss for words. “Erm.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from Geralt, the way his face is slack with pleasure and his cock hangs huge and heavy between his legs. He’s dribbling seed onto the bed and it might be the most obscene and compelling thing Jaskier has ever seen.

“Best ride this side of the Pontar,” Lambert says, letting go of Geralt’s hair to smack him on the arse. He catches Jaskier’s eye with a devilish grin. “Maybe you ought to have a go at him when I’m done.”

Geralt makes a reedy, whiny noise and comes, messily, spending himself over the bed and staring at Jaskier all the while.

Jaskier gasps. He blushes. Then he turns and runs back to his room as fast as his legs will carry him.

–

The day after that, Jaskier hides out in the library, fussing over the books without reading any of them. He can’t get the image of Geralt being fucked out of his head, and he can’t imagine what the hell Geralt had been thinking leaving the door open like that. Almost like he wanted to be seen. The idea makes Jaskier’s skin prickle.

Vesemir finds him in the library at midday, nodding politely and settling himself in an alcove to read a massive dusty tome on beast classification. Jaskier can’t sit still, worrying his lip between his teeth, wanting to ask for advice but unsure how to proceed.

“Out with it,” Vesemir says after a while, snapping his book shut. “Whatever you want to ask me.”

Oh. He is perceptive. “It’s, ahh, it’s about Geralt.”

Vesemir sighs. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing! Well, nothing important. I just never realised he was so, umm, popular with the other Wolves.”

“You mean the fact he’s fucking all of them?”

Jaskier swallows wrong and coughs.

“Geralt has a lot of affection to give,” Vesemir says with a shrug. “Though gods know it’s hard to tell from that sour expression that’s always on his face.”

Jaskier fidgets. “And are you and he, you know… ?”

“No, little bard. He’s like a son to me.”

Jaskier lets out a breath. Thank the gods. He want sure he’d have been able to cope with that.

“Guess it’s just you and me being left out then,” he jokes.

Vesemir snorts. “Mmm. I’m sure.”

Jaskier has no idea what to make of that.

–

Jaskier dithers about returning to his room that night. It’s not that he’s been avoiding Geralt, not exactly. It’s just that he’s not quite sure what to say to him so he’s arranged for himself to be elsewhere.

What do you say to your best friend when you’ve watched him being fucked and you both clearly enjoyed it?

Maybe it won’t be a problem. Maybe now Geralt has had three witchers on three consecutive nights he’ll be sated.

That doesn’t seem very likely. Jaskier catches himself hoping it’s not.

Eventually he caves, heading to his room through the drafty corridors and down the crumbling steps, his hands sweating as he approaches Geralt’s room.

This time, it’s quiet. No panting or whispered words or sounds of carnal activity. That’s the tiniest bit disappointing, if he’s honest.

The door is open though, candlelight spilling out onto the floor. He looks in as he passes and Geralt is lounging on his bed, wearing a loose shirt which for some godsforsaken reason is unbuttoned all the way down, and a pair of trousers tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Jaskier inhales sharply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt looks up, smiling coyly, and that’s an unnerving expression to see on his face. “I was hoping you’d pass by.”

“Oh? Right. Yes, well, here I am. And here you are. Though I see you’re, ahh, alone tonight.”

“Not any more. Not now you’re here.” Geralt’s eyes looks almost black in the flickering light.

“I suppose that’s technically true…”

“Did you like watching?” Geralt asks it so casually, like he’s discussing Jaskier’s wine preferences. “Last night, and the nights before?”

Jaskier swallows. He can’t very well deny it. “Yeah. I liked it.”

Geralt smirks. “I thought so. You want to watch again? Or, better yet, join in this time?”

It hadn’t even occurred to Jaskier that joining in could be an option. An image flashes through his mind: Geralt bend over, spreading himself for him, making those delicious noises as Jaskier warms him up. He feels light headed as all the blood in his body rushes southward. “You’d… like that?”

Geralt cups himself through his trousers, stroking the outline of his hardening cock through the fabric and making sure Jaskier sees what he’s doing. “I’d like that a lot.”

Jaskier is still standing in the doorway like an idiot when he hears footsteps and raucous laughter echoing down the corridor.

Eskel, Lambert and Coen come barreling toward Geralt’s room and Lambert gives him a wink. “Back again?” he asks Jaskier. “We were hoping you’d return.”

Coen claps him on the back. “Welcome to the team.”

They’re a team? Jaskier looks back to Geralt, who is leering at the four of them and playing with himself. Apparently, yup, they’re the let’s all fuck Geralt team now.

“Come on, Jask, don’t be shy,” Eskel smiles at him warmly. “I’ll show you how Geralt likes it. We’ll even let you go first.” Lambert scoffs at that but Eskel cuffs him round the back of the head. “Be polite to our guest for once in your life,” Eskel chides.

The three of them push past Jaskier and into the room, laughing and chatting, though Jaskier still stands frozen on the threshold. He looks back to Geralt, who has taken his dick out of his trousers and is ignoring the other wolves to stare at Jaskier.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asks, quiet.

Geralt grins wickedly. “So very sure.”

Jaskier feels like he has been handed his life’s desires on a silver platter. His heart races, imagining everything he wants to do to Geralt, everything he can do now.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the room.

#ur local filth lord delivers #geraskier #geralt x lambert #and uhhh others #the witcher #anonymous #my writing #kaer morhen #nsfk #george replies

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Baby, You Light Up My World

well I haven't done this trope yet...

sold to 1D au - modern au - absolutely a fluffy crackfic

I didn't do much editing, I just wrote this for funsies.

Please consider leaving me a comment since it is my birthday month. As both a bisexual and a Leo I desire nothing more than validation.

tw: mild panic attack

---

“Jaskier! You useless layabout!” his mother called from the bottom of the stairs. “Get down here!”

The young man dropped the book he’d been reading and jogged down the staircase from his room to the main floor. “Yes, Mother?”

“I had to pay the bills after your father died mysteriously so I sold you online.”

“What!?” Jaskier gaped, jaw dropping.

“Yeah, and your new owners are almost here.”

“My new owners!? M-Mother, what do you mea-”

“Go upstairs and get your shit packed,” the frowning woman interrupted. She lit up a cigarette and rolled her eyes in obvious annoyance. “That doorbell is going to ring any minute now and then my problems are over.”

The shocked teen wandered back up the stairs to his room, where he packed his meagre belongings into his old summer camp duffel bag and laid his father’s old guitar gently in its velvet-lined case. His mind raced with questions. Would they be nice people? Would they be cruel? Would he be happier with these strangers than he was at home or at school? Who were they? Was this even legal?

Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the doorbell ringing. He grabbed his bag and his guitar and slowly made his way to the front door. His mother was chatting quietly with several people - men, judging by their low voices - and his heartbeat skyrocketed.

“C’mere, boy,” she ordered, snapping her fingers with impatience. Jaskier scurried forward. “Meet the people who are taking you off my hands.”

“Hello, Jaskier,” said a familiar voice. His head shot up, blue eyes wide and confused.

“G-Geralt deRiv!?” his gaze moved from one man to the next in quick succession. “L-Lambert… Eskel?”

It was his favorite band, Wolf Direction.

---

EARLIER THAT MORNING

---

“Why the fuck are you buying another band member?” Lambert asked, glancing over Vesemir’s shoulder to read his laptop screen. “Why not just hold some open auditions?”

“Because this is a fanfiction, Lambert,” their manager huffed. “And this is how Geralt and Jaskier's meet-cute has to happen.”

“Oh.”

---

BACK TO THE STORY

---

Lambert took his guitar and Eskel took his bag while Geralt herded Jaskier onto the large tour bus parked in his too-short driveway. Jaskier was still in shock; his limbs moved on autopilot as he sat down on the surprisingly comfortable couch that stretched along one wall of the bus, beneath the tinted windows. Geralt sat beside him but kept his hands to himself, waiting for the old man with the mustache to speak first.

“Well hello there, Jaskier,” the stranger greeted warmly. “I know this is an unconventional situation but I wanted to personally welcome you to Wolf Direction. I'll admit that it's all a bit sudden and unexpected, but we needed someone with your gentle disposition to help balance out the boys and you're almost the same age, which is convenient.”

"I'm-" Jaskier blinked owlishly. "I'm joining the band?!"

"You're going to be the new front man," Lambert winked.

Jaskier, completely overwhelmed by the events of the past half-hour, passed the fuck out.

Geralt startled a bit as the brunette boy slumped against him and he gave Vesemir a worried glance. “What the fuck?”

By the time Jaskier managed to regain consciousness they were already nearly a hundred miles away. He sat up from the arm of the couch and stretched, listening as several places in his lower back popped into place. “Huhn?”

“Oh!” Eskel grinned, setting down his X-Box controller. “You’re awake!”

“And you’re Eskel.”

“Yeah… I sure hope so.”

“Cool.”

“Please don’t faint again!” Eskel pleaded, propping the smaller boy against a pillow and covering his lap with a blanket. “You scared the shit out of Geralt.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier blushed, allowing himself to be prodded and adjusted. “I didn’t mean to… It’s just been a very weird morning.”

“It’s going to get weirder,” Lambert added, slamming the bathroom door closed behind him. “Because now we have to know which one of us you’d like to bunk with. There are only four bunks and the bus driver has the couch.”

“Uhhh…” Jaskier’s eyes flickered between Eskel and Lambert. “I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

“I’ll take the floor,” Geralt offered, poking his head out from behind one of the bunk curtains. “He’s new and probably terrified. He’ll need more sleep than I do after the day he’s had.”

“I- No, it’s-” Jaskier tried to argue but none of the band members wanted to listen.

“Alright, floor for Geralt. Jaskier can have his bunk.”

Jaskier felt wrongfooted all over again. “Th-Thanks.”

“No problem. You any good at FIFA?” Eskel asked, offering Jaskier a second controller. The young man shook his head and settled back onto the couch.

“I brought a book,” he smiled timidly.

“Oh, you and Geralt will get along swell,” Lambert teased, tossing Jaskier the duffel. “The bus has been infested by bookworms!”

“Wouldn’t hurt you to read a book or two,” Vesemir said over his shoulder. “Might actually manage to fill some of the space between your ears.”

“Fuck off,” Lambert groused. He fumbled his way into his own bunk. “Let me know when it’s time to eat.”

Jaskier, still surrounded by a cloudy sort of surreality, opened his book and lost himself in the pages.

---

TWO WEEKS LATER

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Jaskier had forgotten how much he hated thunderstorms. He whimpered as another loud bang shook the bus and rattled him in his tiny bunk. Thankfully the driver had parked them for the night, so he didn’t have to worry about crashing into a tree during inclement weather. He was worried about blowing away in the wind, however.

“G-Geralt?” he whispered, poking his head out from behind the dark curtain. Geralt blinked up at him from his air mattress on the floor, still mostly asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Wanna share the bunk tonight? I-” Jaskier licked his lips anxiously and took a deep breath “I’m scared of the storm.”

“Sure,” Geralt lumbered to his feet and slid onto the twin-sized mattress next to Jaskier. Their legs were pressed together and their faces were only inches apart. “Sorry. Bit of a tight squeeze.”

“I don’t mind,” Jaskier muttered. He was glad that the darkness kept Geralt from seeing the way his face had gone red from being in such close proximity to his favorite member of the band.

He and Geralt had been dancing around each other lately - terrified of their very obvious and very mutual feelings for each other - and Jaskier was glad for an excuse to be near him again. Geralt spoke up again: “Scared of storms?”

“I used to have the attic bedroom at my house,” Jaskier explained, keeping his voice low. Eskel was right above them, snoring away. “And once, during a storm, a tree branch flew through my window. I haven’t been able to sleep through the sound of thunder since.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Geralt replied. One of his heavy arms came to rest over Jaskier’s ribcage, holding him without holding him; merely a comforting weight to settle his nerves.

“Me, too,” Jaskier smiled. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep. I’ll be quiet now.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed his acknowledgement. He tucked the younger man’s head beneath his chin and started humming an actual tune, running through all of Jaskier’s favorite Wolf Direction songs until he started snuffling quietly. “Sleep, Jask. I’ll keep you safe.”

And he did.

---

TWO MONTHS LATER

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"Thank you so much, Detroit, we loved being here!" Jaskier waved to the audience and let the microphone drop. He was panting for breath and sweat dripped from his bangs into his eyes, still... this was the happiest he'd ever been. Geralt wrapped a strong arm around his waist, waved to the screaming crowd one last time, and escorted Jaskier into the wings.

"You did great, babe," he smiled. Jaskier grinned up at him.

"Really?"

"You always do."

"You guys are disgusting," Eskel made a fake gagging sound.

"I think it's adorable," Lambert argued. They switched sides every week or so to keep things interesting. "They were made for each other."

"Whatever," Jaskier stuck his tongue out. "This is a found family strangers-to-lovers fic. We can do whatever we want."

"I want to kiss you," Geralt suggested. Jaskier grinned again.

"Sounds like a great ending to me!"

So they kissed, and it was beautiful and sweet and everything Jaskier had ever hoped for.

#crackfic #geraskier crack #witcher crack #geraskier fluff #fluff and crack #the witcher ficlet #geraskier ficlet #happy birthday to me #thank you hermit squad for enabling my gay ass #bouncey's birthday prompt celebration #bouncey's bday ficlets #geraskier nonsense #geraskier fic #geraskier modern au #wolf direction #sold to one direction meme

[isabelinlove]

pumpkin peanut brittle for all your F/Os! since it can apply to all of them I think? :D (n maybe strawberry pound cake if you wanna vent a lil LOL)

This is going to be so long… rip to anyone who reads it all (no but seriously thank you sm for asking!!)

pumpkin peanut brittle: if your f/o is from a TV series/game series, what is your favorite episode/game? if your f/o is from a film/stageplay/etc., what is your favorite scene? why?

Charles: My favorite scene with Charles is definitely the training montage in First Class where he’s helping the students learn to control their powers. You can really see how much he cares and how much he believes in them and it’s really sweet :’)

Harry: This is very similar to the one I just talked about with Charles, but I love the scenes in Order of the Phoenix where he’s teaching Dumbledore’s Army. You can really see how much he wants everyone to succeed :’) Also the scenes in Half-Blood Prince after he takes the Felix Felicis, because he’s so freaking cute and it’s a side of him we don’t get to see often

Frodo: I love pretty much all of his scenes, but I guess my favorites would be the ones at the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, where he’s talking to Gandalf and enjoying Bilbo’s party (because he’s carefree and happy and we don’t get to see him like that once he gets the ring 🥲)

Luke: I like the scenes in Empire Strikes Back where he’s training with Yoda on Dagobah. Because it provides a lot of insight into his character, no other reason *sweats nervously as I think about how good he looked in the outfit*

Merlin: Season 1 episode 10, The Moment of Truth. I think it’s really sweet how he goes back to his old village to help the people. Plus it provides some insight into what his life was like before he came to Camelot. And I love seeing him interact with his mom :’)

Q: He isn’t in many scenes to begin with, so can I say they’re all my favorite? 😉 If I had to pick, I guess I’d say the scene in Skyfall where he first meets Bond because I love their banter.

Sherlock: Season 1 episode 1, A Study in Pink. It’s a classic, and as soon as I watched it I was like “…well shit. I’m in love with this bastard.” I love the case, I love his snarky one-liners, and I love watching him become friends with John.

The Doctor: It’s so hard to pick just one episode, but I think I’ll say season 4 episode 10, Midnight. I like it because it focuses entirely on him and not his companions, and it’s fun to watch him have to take charge of the situation without help from anyone else. And it’s just a really cool (and creepy!) episode overall.

Steve: He has so many good scenes; I can’t pick just one! He’s in a lot of movies so I’ll pick a movie instead. 😉 And that movie would be The Winter Soldier! It’s my absolute favorite Steve movie because we get to see him adjusting to the modern world and learn more about his relationship with Bucky. I also love his interactions with Natasha and Sam. (And there are no unnecessary love interests, lol)

Sam: There are a lot of Supernatural episodes I like (…and a lot I don’t, lmao), but my favorite Sam episode is season 3 episode 3, Bad Day at Black Rock. He’s so freaking cute when things keep going wrong for him because of the bad luck curse. Absolute baby 🥺💕

Matt: Season 4 episode 2, Reunion, because it’s pretty much the only episode that focuses heavily on him and goes into detail about his life. I love learning about his relationship with Pidge and seeing them reunite :’)

Jaskier: Season 1 episode 2, Four Marks, because it’s the first time we meet him and that’s when I fell instantly in love with him. The fact that he’s introduced singing a song about someone getting an abortion… what an entrance lmao. I also love how he basically annoys Geralt into being his friend 🤣

Tommy: Hands down the scene where he defends Gibson when all the other soldiers are trying to kick him off the boat. It shows that he cares about doing the right thing even in horrible circumstances that reduce other men to only caring about their own survival.

Stefan: Idk if Bandersnatch counts as a movie or a game, lol. But none of the endings are my favorite because none of them are happy for him 😠 I guess my favorite scenes are the ones at the beginning where he’s explaining his ideas for the game, because he sounds happy and hopeful instead of stressed and depressed 🥲

strawberry pound cake: what's an overdone take/opinion that you see about your f/o? do you agree with it?

I’ll just answer this one for Steve, since this post is already so long lol. But one thing I see a lot of on TikTok is people making jokes that he would be racist and/or sexist because he’s from the 1940s. 🙄🙄🙄 It’s not at all funny and certainly not true; there’s plenty of evidence throughout the movies that he’s neither of those things and never was. He’s the sweetest person ever and I get so mad when I see people suggesting otherwise, even if it is just a joke.

#ask games